


No creature half so terrifying as a truly just man

by SupaSoulja_X



Category: Asoiaf - Fandom, GoT - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 93,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25020700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupaSoulja_X/pseuds/SupaSoulja_X
Summary: We have a man who was a Brooklyn Law Clerk jumped into the Mannis just as Robert's Rebellion is almost over. How can a Truly Just Man change things?
Comments: 16
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

"Only a kind person is able to judge another justly and to make allowances for his weaknesses.  
A kind eye, while recognizing defects, sees beyond them."  
Lawrence G. Lovasik

**Stannis?**  
Storms End  
Second Month of 283 AC

A small voice, no a lean voice beckoned to me from the aether. "Brother, please get up! Don't leave me here by myself."

Another voice, older with a mix of gentle reproach and understanding answered him. "And where am I young Renly, if not right behind you?"

From what I somehow knew without thinking was a sick bed I could see the image of the elder maester. Slightly hunched, but surprisingly spry when he chose to be, Maester Cressen still had a good deal of life in him yet. Though if this siege continued much longer I feared that he and my young brother would be among the first casualties. They certainly would die even sooner if I didn't get up from this blasted bed and see to the morale of my troops.

Another thought struck me then. How the hell did I get behind the walls of Storms End in yet another blasted war caused by the foolish greed and unchecked passions of so called great lords? The last thing I remembered was going to bed after a double shift at the Court of Appeals at 45 Monroe Place. The same building I worked at for the better part of 20 years as a clerk alternating between the offices of the public defender and prosecution.

I could feel another consciousness just beneath the surface of my own. Memories that had no real context or made any sense then flooded into my mindscape. They showed me the various relevant relationships between my family and those who resided in a place called "Storm's End". After a few seconds I could recall the names and details of at least two hundred people and intimate facts of the residents just as quickly as those of my 'real' family or friends. Just as quickly I couldn't even say which 'reality' was closer to my heart. I felt myself sputter as my mind groaned to cope with it all.

Something in back of my psyche sent a firm directive to me, reminding me of my time in the the N.R.O.T.C , U.S. Coast Guard and the U.S. Navy. A strong masculine presence almost seemed to shout at me the way my father would when he caught me slacking off instead of studying or training for a meet. In a firm voice that brooked no compromise or back talk it said "You were a combat soldier once, and once a soldier always a soldier. Worry about the reality of your existence later. First survive and do your duty to my family. My brothers and the realm are depending on you". For some reason I could feel how important a part of me considered the lives before me.

My groan and cough must have been more audible than I realized because one of the knights guarding my room spoke.

"See Renly, you didn't have anything to worry bout. It would take much more than some cowardly strike to vanquish Lord Stannis!" The speaker was Ser Harold Tarshen, a household knight aged about thirty years. He was wearing full armor, but I assumed even with a fighter's ration he was rather gaunt under the plate. His unhelmeted hair displayed a salt and pepper handlebar mustache and what looked like mutton chop sideburns. It was probably meant to make him look fierce, but not everyone could pull off the Tywin or Wolverine look.

I remember Renly saying he looked more like a mummer than the fierce boar he wished to appear as. No one had the heart or the lack of common sense to inform Ser Harold of that fact, as he was truly fucking deadly with fist, long sword or great sword. Though I suspected he saw my kid brother snickering when he wasn't looking.

"He'd better. Some of the men look at me funny. I think they want to eat me," said the third Baratheon in a slightly stronger tone.

I could still hear the fear in his frail voice's undertone though. Worse I could see his increasingly distended belly. Suddenly I felt intensely angry at the people responsible for this situation. Said sacks of suet were Lord Mace Tyrell of the Reach and Rheagar Targaryen, for I would never again call him or any of his line a prince. Most of all I burned with a hate I never knew, in what my soul told me was my past life, for his mad father who was no kind of king at all. If the rumors were true, and I knew they certainly were, Aerys was a beast in human skin worse than the Mountain that Rides or even his predecessor, the so called Smiling Knight.

To be honest some of my ire was directed at Brandon Stark, his father, John Aryn and yes even my elder brother Robert. For while Robert was right to defend his betrothal, both sets of my emotions seriously doubted he even knew what the words matrimonial monogamy or genuine affection were. It was likely he couldn't even spell the words, and I meant that literally as Stannis knew the sex obsessed, alcoholic jock was barely literate. The elder Starks while justified in their anger were bloody fools to ride into Kings Landing and even more mad than Aerys to insult an man so beloved of cruel torture to his face! All this largely came about because the bloody eagle was so quick to join hands with the sly wolf to hedge bets on the Iron Throne in the false belief they had all the angles covered. Now my little brother was dying by inches while they played politics or danced about like knights from some cursed song.

No that shit wasn't happening, not while I could do something about it! I calmed myself and took a deep breath as I rose from my bed and rubbed my head. There was no need for wrath or a harsh face when dealing with people I both trusted and cared about. While Renly might one day become a vain and callow sop, that day was a far while off and I had a great many opportunities to monkey wrench such a fate. Stannis could never show affection to anyone, even himself and that probably explained a great many of his problems. The death of his parents had scarred him in a way I frequently observed in the people who came before the judges whose cases I participated in. I however, had a large family and I knew how to get along with them even during our worst times.

I sat up and looked at the little boy, who was by Westorosi social standards a late teenager despite being biologically six and how frail the lack of food made him appear. Renly's pupp eyes widened and he slowly came within two feet of me but stopped. I was sure the distance was something the damn stone face bastard had enforced to 'toughen' the boy up. Well fuck that noise! I reached over and pulled Renly into a hug. I could feel the how close the bones were to his and my own ribs through our rough spun clothes. One thing I could appreciate about Stannis was he insisted that he and his officers share the burdens of his men. We had done away with our fancy clothes the minute the siege looked to be upon us and took the same food and rations as the others. I would credit it to why we has lasted this long.

Stifling my re-stoked rage. I put on a somewhat pleasant voice which cracked somewhat from my injury and lack of proper diet.

"That's because you look so tasty little brother!" I said then complimented my hug with a ruffle of his limp black hair. Renly looked at me a moment in complete shock. To be honest so did the other three men in the room; the maester and my two guards. A part of me sent a cautionary warning about seeming off, but I shut it up with a firm thought. Said firm thought included a few choice words learned in the United States Navy.

I looked at his concerned face and said "A joke dear brother, We all know that Baratheon meat is tough and like to break the teeth of any fools that dare take a bite." A second passed before a small laugh came from the cracking lips of Renly. It was followed a few seconds later by Ser Harold and the man at arms Lorrimer Halfdon. For a good half minute the room was filled with awkward laughter as my little brother hugged me with all the strength his body was capable of. That so much power still resided in a body that young in the midst of a siege was a testament to Baratheon dna. Tears came down his eyes and the rage in my guts burned like hydrochloric acid.

It must have shown as the three adults stopped their mirth and stood at attention. Renly quickly joined them, but I let him continue to hold me. It was then that Maester Cresson continued to speak.

"You are as healthy as my arts can confirm. Your skull was not broken by Ser Doman's cowardice. He and the other surviving mutineers await your judgment." I nodded at Cresson as it was as much a token of appreciation of a job well done as the affection miser usually granted. Then I turned to the small bundle of young manhood hugging my waist. I was never the broadest of men but this siege had wasted a good amount of my vigor. I would have to rectify both issues as soon as possible as this war would require me in my best form.

"Do you intend to finish what Ser Doman started little brother?" I asked in a amused voice. The boy stopped, released me and looked up at me. His face attempting to read the intent of my words. Part of me cursed Stannis for causing the boy to doubt his intentions toward his little brother. That isn't how a man should treat his brother, hell even a dog deserved better. I knew he never laid a hand of violence on him, but at times words or even gestures cut deeper than knives. A weak series of subliminal messages 'for his own good, weakness is unbecoming the son of a lord, the world is harsh, don't be naïve you have seen what men have done' passed through me. A simple 'EXCUSES!' silenced the mental messages.

Then I smiled. For a second it must have startled the boy because honestly Stannis never smiled, but Renly must have read my intent because he relaxed a second later. My right hand wiped the tears from each of his eyes while my left firmly gripped his chin ensuring we maintained eye contact. My words were firmly said, but with no threat or harsh undertone.

"Renly. Please listen and believe what I'm saying to you. There is never a time when you should ever fear me. I am your brother and while I live no harm will befall you. If you have done wrong I will punish you, but it is for your own good not because I hate you." I continued with more emphatic pronunciation. It was like I was a lawyer in one of my cases trying to get an innocent man off death row. Renly needed to believe what I was saying as much as Stannis needed to make the words real.

"I love you brother. Robert loves you. We are doing this, fighting this war so you don't have to be afraid of someone taking what belongs to you because they are stronger or bigger than you. I know you don't understand but you know Robert and I would never put you in danger for a stupid or bad reason don't you?" I wondered if years of neglect and emotional abuse could be undone with mere platitudes. A second later I learned that small children will forgive almost anything when the naïve boy nodded his head. The back of my mind grimaced and seized up. 'Prevarication' and ' baseless supposition' came unbidden. Well despite his bias even he knew Robert would never consciously cause harm to Renly. Of course the truth was Robert Baratheons's first thoughts were rarely about anything not connected to bottle, spear or a vagina. But I was not trying to drive a deeper wedge between the members of this family and if a few white lies were needed to heal us then so be it.

Renly's little voice grew steady. "I know that Lord Stannis" he said. Did stone face really have the kid call him Lord Stannis in private? "I'm just hungry and scared" they boy said as tears began forming in his eyes. "See what weakness you encourage. The garrison will turn on us should this continue. Discipline him for all our sakes" inner Stannis declared with contempt for my century's family values. I ignored that small nagging voice and went about it a different way.

"Now now. Why cry? I'm alive, Robert is alive and we are going to win this war. Those tears tell everyone outside this door that you don't think Robert is winning. Does that sound like something a Baratheon should do?" The little boy wiped his tears and looked at me. .

"No. No it does not. We must all do our duty. It is the duty of the soldier to fight and may haps die for a vic.. victory that he may never see. It is the duty of those who do not fight to support the fighters with their labor. It is the duty of those who lead to show courage and good judgement lest those they lead loose faith and the war be lost. I will do my part Lord Stannis. I won't shame our family" the brave boy said as his spine stiffened. Renly looked at me with a gaze I knew was reverence and stood firmly as I let his chin go.

"When it is just us together like this call me brother," I said. Then I mussed his coarse black hair and bent down to kiss his forehead. Renly's mouth opened in shock, but he buried his head in my chest with another hug a second later.

"I love you brother," was more felt than heard from Renly's small voice reverberating near my heart.

"I love you more Renly," came unbidden and I think the gasp I heard might have been from one of the adults.

It was then I turned to face the slack jawed faces of the men in front of me. The fact that they were surprised by this display of brotherly affection actually made me angry. My face returned to its lordly state and they became flustered and stood at attention. All but Maester Cressen, who looked at me quizzically.

"No, I haven't been replaced by a Snark or Grumkin. Lorrimer, kindly fetch my armor and sword. I have judgment to deliver. Renly, compose yourself! You will accompany me. I think too many have forgotten our house words. Shall we remind them of what they are?" I turned to the little boy whose face hardened as he remembered what almost happened to me.

"Ours is the Fury brother!" he said without hesitation in a timber that implied no quarter for our houses' enemies.

I was honestly shocked that such a small voice could convey such sang froid. Kids grew up fast in Westeros, didn't they.

"Ours is the Fury indeed," I replied and I had a very good idea how to display it to the world outside our gates.


	2. Davos I

“Wilson had been killed by everybody. It was this that made his death special, the children had been told.  
It was justice, it was all the people  
showing how much they hated this crime.  
Killing was justice when everybody joined in.”  
Barry Unsworth, Sacred Hunger

  
**Davos the Smuggler**  
Storm's End  
Second month of 283 After Conquest

  
When Davos had been asked to stay after delivering what turned out to be his final load of smuggled fish, stale bread and onions the flea bottom smuggling legend was a might perplexed. When he had been told the reason why Davos was shocked. When he thought back over what Davos had witnessed and been part of that day the weary seaman's mind could not accept it, but the truth spoke for itself.

  
Then

  
He had arrived in the Sweet Mercy the night after the mutiny attempt and the near murder of his hopefully future patron. From what Davos heard a few more seconds and an inch of blade to the left and his gambit to improve the lives of his family would have gone up in smoke. Davos had been a smuggler for many years, a good one if he might say so himself. But there comes a time in every mans life when he realizes that luck and skill have hard limits, especially when one wrong turn or betrayal led to a long drop and a short stop.

From what the onion smuggler knew the Rebellion was still anyone’s to win, even though the failure of the Targaryens to isolate and destroy Robert Baratheon at the Battle of the Bells made a great many question the prospects of continued Dragon rule. And to be honest the increasingly erratic and frankly evil behavior of King Aerys and his son made Davos hope that prospect ended sooner rather than later. He personally cared little for the games of the highborn, but he had children and Davos wanted a sane and orderly world for them go grow up in.

It was largely why he chose to ‘join’ the rebellion’s side. Well that and the fact said siege allowed him to gain a very favorable position. Lord Stannis chose his brother over his king and a man willing to stay loyal to family despite grave danger to himself was one he could respect. The fact Stannis and Robert would likely be generous to people who risked their lives to keep their little brother alive didn’t hurt either. The small boy looked lean when he had come to Davos claiming to be his brother’s page. The solemn air he had about him, despite the cracking voice and the fact he refused to rush at the food being unloaded before his wide eyes impressed the old salt as well.

“Kindly come this way Captain Davos. My Lord Stannis wishes to speak to you before he passes judgment on the mutineers," Renly told him. He resisted the urge to rub the lordling’s head as Davos would if Renly were one his own children. Such a small child should not have to be dealing with such weighty issues.

However, the more rational part of Davos knew better. He’d seen younger children forced to fight dogs in the street for scraps of moldy bread and known gangs of vicious youth the same age. Horrible situations and pain were readily found in the worlds of both lords and beggars. Romantic notions of a better world were best left to dreams.

He found the Lord of Storm’s End alone before a pile of parchments. He could make out sketches of various implements, though for the life of him Davos couldn’t figure out what they were supposed to be. The largest drawing looked like some kind of chamber pot. There was also a hollow wooden tube with flanges and what looked like joinings. The things that lordlings found time to entertain themselves with never failed to confound the Flea Bottom native.

His attention must have slipped because Davos didn’t notice when Stannis addressed him.

“Oh never mind those things. They are important, but we have far weightier things to address good Captain” the tall, gaunt yet powerful lord said.

Davos, realizing his mistake took a knee and a more reverent attitude. “Forgive me mi’lord Baratheon. I was only curious as to things that was none of me business,” he wisely replied. Surprisingly the blockade shriven man strode up to him, reached down and pulled the aging smuggler up gently by the shoulders. Although he was relatively narrow compared to his beast of a brother and more than half starved the due to fairly sharing the rationing Stannis Baratheon was deceptively strong.

“Please Ser Davos. You are the reason any of us are alive or still in this fight. When we are alone there is no need for you to bow. Address me as Lord Stannis or simply lord and we can speak easily and get to the point much more quickly.” Davos was taken aback. Rumors the smuggler trusted said Lord Stannis had always been brusque and direct, but he had never been friendly.

“Ser?” came from Davos' lips without thinking. The word caught him and the lord a bit by surprise judging my the reaction written on the Lord’s face. Davos had survived on more than one occasion solely because of his ability to read men. The powerful one in front of him was shocked by his words, or by something. The smuggler couldn’t be sure.

“Ahh, perhaps I spoke a bit too prematurely. Normally one asks the recipient if they desired to enter the service of a noble…” Davos did something he rarely ever did and cut off a highborn. He was not going to allow him to change his mind due to misinterpreting Davos' surprise for lack of interest.

“Yes m’lord I will gladly serve you to the best of my abilities in any way I can.” He took a knee and bowed his head. When he heard a clearing of the throat he looked up to see Stannis looking down on him. There was a hardness on his face and for a minute Davos thought he had fucked up royally. Then Stannis smiled. It wasn’t a full grin, for that would probably have scared the life from Davos. For all Davos spoke to before coming to Storms End swore to the gods Stannis Baratheon never displayed mirth. Hell, they said the man never laughed or shared a jest since his parents’ death so many years ago.

No, it was just a half smile, but it reached his eyes. Davo’s heart rate went back to normal. Though unconsciously his eyes turned toward the door and he counted how many steps it would take to reach it and then his ship. Then Stannis did laugh.

“Ha, ha. Relax my good fellow. Take a seat and have some tea if you wish. I’m not going to punish you for showing enthusiasm to serve me, and coincidentally provide a better life for Mayra and your little ones.” Davos nearly fainted. How did he know about his family? Then he remembered the rumors. Before him was the man who knew how many men each lord had in all seven kingdoms.

Sitting in the chair left vacant for him. The common thistle tea to his right held lemon and Stannis himself had partaken of it. As it would be bad form to deny the hospitality of a noble he took a sip himself.

“Don’t worry I still intend to knight you though let me give you some advice. First it's considered poor form to cut off your lord in the midst of a speech even though we high born tend to be a might long winded." Stannis snickered, as to did Davos. With the ice broken the lord took another sip before he continued.

"Second, never agree to anything before you hear the fine details. As an experienced and famous smuggler you should already know this Davos. If you agree to serve me I will never ask you to do anything heinous or reprehensible. I think we have had enough of that with the current arse on the Iron Throne and I suspect his son may take after him." He then fixed Davos an iron gaze.

"Should you think I am heading in that direction I expect you to say something before it gets to the point someone needs to shove a sword in my back or drive a hammer through my ribs. Do you think you can do that?”

Davos was confused by Stannis’s language but what he said made sense. It made more sense than most any lord he heard before. He found his head nodding.

“Aye, if you want sound and honest council from me its yours. Only begging my lord’s pardon if you’d promise not to take me head or other parts for giving it when you don’t want to hear it.” Stannis laughed again and this time he had a full smile when he was done. Davos nearly spat out his tea. There were rumors that he took a blow to the head during the mutiny. Such blows were known to change men in odd ways.

“Good, good. I so promise. Though that is contingent on your advice being well reasoned and not self serving tripe like just about all of the nonsense I hear every day. When my Brother triumphs I will be a prince and as such I have no intention of repeating Rheagar’s mistakes. I may have to tolerate the presence of flatterers and fools, but I want none of them in my own private council chamber.” He was quiet then.

“I’m not the best spoken man, nor am book learned but I can think bettern a lot of common folk.” And a few lord’s sons turned customs agents is what he held back.

“And quite a few lord’s sons play acting customs officials eh?” This time Davos did spit. The cloud of tea traveled a good foot and half, but well short of Lord Stannis. It was almost as if he planned this. Though still, spitting in front of your prospective lord was something that wasn’t done.

“My lord..” Davos said quickly seeking the right words to rectify this etiquette error. Only Stannis stopped him by raised a hand for silence.

“You underestimated me. Its ok, a lot of us high born do it all the time to 'small folk’ because we feel superior to them. Well not all of us have our heads up our asses Davos.” The lord did some funny motion with his hands as he said small folk that for some reason Davos found humorous. Well blows to the head were like that, and aside from that quirk Stannis seemed perfectly sane.

“Of course that won’t do. Underestimating others is unacceptable because doing so leaves you vulnerable to critical errors. If you are advising me or carrying out my orders with such a mindset it could cost lives. Yours or my own. So you will do your best to treat everyone man, woman or child, rich or poor as a holder of sufficient intellect to be a threat. Is that clear?” Lord Stannis' face lost all joviality then.

“Yes m’lord,” came from his lips. It was the only thing Davos could say and further it was right. Lord Stannis was right. That was the way he survived all those years at sea in foreign ports among cut throats and sly magisters.

“Secondly, your lack of education is appalling. Don’t misunderstand. I don’t blame you or anyone else for not being able to read or write. I find it disgusting that basic education is kept from anyone. If more people could read and write our kingdom would be more productive." It was a thought Davos found interesting.

"I can’t snap my fingers and make everyone able to understand the words of Maester Bael, but I can tell you one thing. Once this war is over every person who is under my service will be able to read and write to a acceptable level.” He pointed at Davos and the lord's eyes flashed with intensity.

“That means you. Will. Learn. How. To. Read. And Write. You will also learn how to fight properly, ride a horse, court etiquette and a bunch of other tom fool things that have nothing to do with practical business and will bore the shit out of you. But those are the breaks of leaving a life of drudgery, bad drinking water and piracy!” At the last words out his prospective lord's mouth Davos found his lip involuntarily twisting into a frown.

“What’s that soon to be Ser Davos? Did I say something that was wrong or foolish?” Davos looked at his face and instantly knew he was being tested. The lord was good at reading people, very good and he had set this meeting up. Davos took a breath and answered honestly, as anything else was likely to not end well.

“Begging your lordship’s pardon, but I weren’t never a pirate.” The prospective prince of Westeros raised his right eyebrow as though he were expecting a more elaborate answer.

“Kindly explain the difference then my friend. You evaded the king’s factors and brought in goods that were illegal. Stealing from the king is theft and stealing on the high seas is piracy no?” Davos’ eyes narrowed as he studied the man who would be his new lord. Stannis was known to value the law and justice and for him to ask these questions meant he wanted to know Davos’ understanding of the concepts.

“For starters m’lord I never hurt anyone in my sailings. Yes I fought some people on the seas, real pirates who wanted to take my crew as slaves or rob me of my cargo. Those types are real pirates. But I never did any man violence who didn’t offer it to me."

"And before you ask that includes the king’s factors. I always surrendered when they asked to board my ships. It's not my fault they never found anything worth arresting me for is it?” The damn Lord smiled again and nodded. Davos suspected Stannis already knew the answer before the lord asked the question it seemed.

“So do you feel paying the kings tax isn’t something you are obliged to do? You do admit to not doing that right?”

“Aye, I did keep the kings coin, to feed my family and the crew of my ships. I’ll admit that there were times I could have afforded it, but there were times sixty coppers was the difference between starving and half starving.” Still smiling Stannis replied in a deeper tone.

“So desperation and honest need is an excuse for breaking the law, as long as you don’t hurt other people? I mean you didn’t smuggle slaves or weapons to wildlings unlike the captain you served under near East Watch after all. I’m also pretty sure that more than a few lords, the same ones sending their children to catch you, were involved in your operations. No victim, no harm, no real need for punishment. That about sum it up?”

Davos sensed a trap. The penalty for theft under Aegon’s law was maiming. However this man didn’t look like he wanted to or was going to hurt him, and Davos had already damned himself with a confession. For starters he still needed Davos to keep feeding him and he already knew of his guilt. Though the hairs in the back of his neck were offering warnings. ‘Thread lightly but honestly here’ was the general gist.

“I’ll say that leniency for those pushed to crime by hard circumstance would be in order m’lord. Tis not justice to lop off the hand of a starving man who steals a loaf of bread to feed his family because there is no honest work. Show me a man who would watch his children die of hunger and I’ll show you a craven dog.”

Stannis didn’t laugh again but he nodded his head in appreciation of Davos' response.

“Fair enough. I’ll waive the usual response that leniency only emboldens people with hard luck stories to rob shoppes. It usually ends with everyone stealing all the time and no move vendors opening their shoppes leading to the economy collapsing and everyone starving. It makes for a droll argument.”

“It’s also bloody stupid”, Davos found himself saying without leave.

“That too. It also leaves people who don’t have skills and without a limb forced to turn to either begging or more theft. We both know how that story ends. But let's look at it from a different angle," came from the now intrigued lord.

"Would you say that rape, actual violent piracy and slaving are clearly evil and there is little to no excuse for committing those crimes?” Davos nodded to such a clear cut application of basic law.

“Aye m’lord. A robber might steal from desperation to care for his ailing mother, but what makes his victims any less poor or deserving to feed their kin with their hard earned wages?”

“And would you say that supporting slavers, robbers and rapers was a serious crime Davos? Is it right to punish people who made it easier for violent criminals to commit crimes or escape society's laws?” There it was again, another obvious trap. This time Davos could see where it was going.

“Yes m’lord the fence who converts stolen goods, the men who break in girls for pimps, even the patrolmen who take a bribe not follow up on leads. All of them have a part in making more victims. O course the people who buy the stolen silverware, or visit the brothels or appoint their friends to the watch just to collect a check without showin up are close to the root o the problem.” Stannis clapped then added his own take on Davo's point.

“Well reasoned Davos. And you threw the charge back at my social class without directly insulting me. There is no rapist pimp without a so called joy seeker. And we both know that means some lord’s son. The fancy goods are bought by people with money and that means the upper class. They are also the ones who put crooked watch members in place, after all small folk don’t collect the graft in Kings Landing. Hell, many peasants don't actually use money." Aside from the lord's use of some strange words Davos could understand his train of though easily. 'Peasant' clearly meant poor person though Davos had no clue as to it social meaning. Leave it to the high born to make twenty words for the same thing.

"Of course you are forgetting that the kings tax is what pays for the ships that keep slavers off our shores. It pays for the upkeep of the roads so that merchants feel safe enough to bring food to the poor in out of the way villages. If every rolling merchant had to pay for guards the price of food would rise and so would suffering.” Davos looked at the lord with a slightly cocked head. Up until that moment his arguments were rock solid, but this one was less sure footed.

“Begging my lord’s pardon but perhaps he should spend more time outside his castle and among the people in the villages. There is little of the King’s protection outside the walls of a holdfast. Most people have what protection them and their neighbors can make for themselves.” Davos found himself getting heated. Stannis was a fair man with a sound mind, but for such practical military man he was starting to sound like he lost touch with reality.

Stannis raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Peace my friend. I’m not bloody stupid. I know more often than we’d like to believe the gold cloaks cause more problems than they solve. I’m also aware of how difficult it is to protect the coasts fully. It wouldn’t surprise me to know that some Steptstones trash rightly bragged about raiding villages off Cape Wrath."

"However, imagine what would happen if there were no patrols and those pirates could do what they wanted without any fear of reprisal? The perception of order brings order. And when people break down the faith in the law, whether by breaking it directly, corrupting it with graft or by destroying its credibility it makes life worse for everyone. And we both know it isn’t the rich who suffer when that happens, or at least not until the ‘sudden peasant revolt’ happens.” Stannis made the air quotes again and Davos realized it was meant as a mocking gesture. Davos found that he smirked and laughed outright for the first time of the night. Working for Lord Stannis wouldn’t be half bad if this was how he was going to act.

“Ah, I’m glad you could relax. But don’t be so happy just yet. I still have to punish you for your decade or so of smuggling. However, I’m willing to let you choose the method. First, I want you to add up all the smuggling crimes you’ve committed since your watched your captain get hung for trading weapons to the wildlings. If you can't remember each year’s totals just add up your rough yearly take."

"Then I want you to calculate how much tax you actually welched on. Don’t worry about it you can borrow one of my pages and all the parchment you need. Though be considerate as I don’t have fresh supply of it yet. Then I want you to bring to me a fair and just sentence I can deliver to you alongside your knighthood."

"Now should you not choose to do this I will understand. In that case I will provide you with a very fat purse once my Brother takes the throne. I’ll also wait three months before posting an even larger bounty on your head. Of course that bounty will only be enforced if you are still in Westeros or you decide to live in an area that supports slavery. So going to Bravos or the Summer Islands and retiring would be an option.” Davos swallowed.

“That seems fair m’lord. But beggin your pardon do you have to accept my suggestion?” Stannis smiled at the ex smuggler, it was predatory.

“No, but the more practical and sensible you are the more likely I am to accept your proposal. Also be warned I’m not going to kill you or leave you incapable of serving me, as I’m not going to waste my time training you to be a burden to me.” Davos found himself releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“You have until Eddard Stark comes to relieve this siege to make up your mind. I would hurry if I were you, your crimes might take while to tally up. Oh and ser Onion and Turnips I’d learn to say my lord instead of m’lord. It's more knightly.” Davos realized he was being dismissed when Renly showed up at the door to take him to his quarters.

“Thank you my lord Stannis. I will try to prove myself up to the challenge.” He bowed to lord Stannis’s nod and pretended he didn’t see Stannis wink at his brother from the corner of his eye.

Now

  
Davos stood outside in the courtyard alongside the knights and pages, while the seven accused were led out before the assembly. It was slightly overcast but visibility was excellent.

They were bound with heavy ropes, nautical knots bound both arms and legs. There were more than a few bruises on each of the soon to be condemned but they were each clean. If Davos had to guess it was done with sea water as no one would waste fresh water on dead men.

Inwardly he winced. If Davos had to choose between washing his wounds with salt and appearing with a bad odor he knew what option he would take. The smuggler was no closer to solving Lord Stannis’ riddle but he knew one thing. He was not leaving Storms End without his knightship. Marya and his sons would not suffer to spare Davos a bit of skin.

Since the soon to be prince promised he wouldn’t leave him useless it meant Davos would at least keep his sword arm intact.

He began thinking of all the body parts he could afford to give up that met the king’s requirements for ‘being of use’. Since Davos didn’t have to decide until the castle was relieved it meant the king was being reasonable. That was a vast difference from the kind of blind loyalty demanded by most high borns and Davos found himself respecting the man even more.

From his elevated chair Stannis addressed the assembled lords, soldiers and sundry laborers. Anyone currently in Storms End was someone the Baratheons implicitly trusted and had immediate use for. All the others had been turned out, so the recent betrayal was something all present were less than pleased about. Even if there was a growing desire for surrender being associated with cowardly betrayal was something universally loathed.

Stannis’ voice cut through the idle chatter and insults hurled at the accused as they walked forward to meet their fate. No one really expected this to end in a surprising manner. They didn’t’ just try to run, they ambushed and struck their lord and worse the ring leader did so from behind. A serious example had to be made of these idiots. The betting pool among his crew favored crucifixion. Davos heard rumors among the scullery maids that they would use the catapults. Davos himself, having met the man figured hanging or the sword. Stannis wasn’t a cruel man and he couldn’t imagine him drawing their deaths out longer than necessary.

“I will have SILENCE and DECORUM! This is court of LAW!” Stannis' battle field voice was impressive to say the least. They didn’t need the big metal gong and large smooth mace at all.

“We all know why we are here. You Ser Doman Crayborn, You Ser Carson Mondy, You Ser Gered Lycomb, You Squire Donald Cumberly, You Man at Arms Selwidge Sharpe and You Watchman Yoren Albridge stand accused of mutiny and attempted murder of your liege lord."

"For the sake of justice I must ask you to enter your pleas!” For a moment none of them moved but one by one they actually had the audacity to plead not guilty, or offer excuses. Maester Cresson entered their please on a scroll. All of them spoke except for Ser Doman.

Ser Doman rode forward and when Lord Stannis raised his hand the spear carrier allowed him to approach the dais.

“Thank you, but I am not going to beg for my life.” The look Stannis displayed and his nod let Davos know Ser Doman wasn’t surprising him.

“You speak of mutiny, you talk about my tying to kill my rightful lord. But isn’t that what you are doing right now? Those men outside the gates are loyal to the true king of the seven kingdoms.” He paused and stared into Lord Stannis’ eyes. The gaunt lord returned the glare with interest before he replied.

“So it is ok for the rightful king to not only rape his wife and encourage his heir to despoil the daughters of his loyal lord paramounts, but to cruelly murder said lords when they dare complain?" Stannis 'voice carried over the courtyard. His tone rightfully implying the defendant was a simpleton in addition to being a cowardly oath breaker.

"I should also say making a mockery of trial by combat is beyond royal prerogative. Unless you are suggesting roasting the honorable lord Stark alive by wildfire while his son strangled himself to save him was in fact justice.” Not to be undone and with no recourse save audacity Ser Doman rallied.

“Those allegations are unproven!” That was the wrong track to take with the crowd and they began to murmur various death threats. Lord Stanis rose his hand and there was silence again.

“I think the madness of Aerys is common knowledge. And if Lyanna had voluntarily left with Rheagar I doubt her brother would have risked his own life to get her back after she would clearly have shamed the Stark name. A simple letter stating that fact could not have been hidden, even if Rhaegar was lying. Yet even that much respect for Westerosi law was beyond the scope of his prophesy addled brain. But be that as it may the crimes of the Targaryeans or Baratheons are not the topic of today."

"Rather it is your rather feeble attempt to murder me and betray this castle to our enemies that is the focus of this trial.” Cries of here here and Aye could be heard. A turn of Stannis’ head was all it took to calm them. Stannis waited until Ser Doman could gather his wits and allowed him more rope to hang himself. It seemed that the rogue knight realized his death was certain but wanted to go out of this world with some honor, for his next arguments were less self serving.

“Fine. If that is the way this will go. You are a fair man, or at least that is how you want to be seen. But tell me what is fair about subjecting all of us to slow starvation because of your stubborn pride?” He turned to face the crowd and some energy or passion took him. Ser Doman's voice was loud and strong and full of conviction.

“We have been held up in this castle for almost a year, while our supposed better king is was hiding in every whore house in the Riverlands. What Stannis doesn’t want to tell you is even he isn’t confident that his brother is still alive. Their rebellion isn’t nearly as powerful as they are pretending," came forth from Doman's indignation. With a fiery spirit he continued. 

"We and this castle are his guarantee of surety. They will let us all starve to death so that they can make a deal that spares their noble Baratheon skins before they go bowing down to the dragons once again. Thousands of us little people will die so they can keep doing the same things they always have. Making tragic songs about death and honor, while they reap the benefits we suffer the blade and fire." Ser Doman looked at each of the men guarding him and slowly climbed a bit higher while reaching his full height.

"Tis why Ser Gared Wylde and his men slipped out three months ago quietly. They were with the Baratheons as long as anyone else and they knew what was going on. If even the master of arms felt it was better to give up why shouldn’t the rest of us. I don’t apologize for trying to save my life, for trying to save all of us. I’m just sorry I failed.” His face turned into stone and he stepped down with the others to await judgment. There were murmurs in the crowd and a few gave him sympathetic looks.

If Stannis was in any way discomforted by this turn of events it didn't show. He merely allowed the crowd to murmur another few seconds before again raising his hands for silence.

“Let me first say that Ser Damon is both a coward and a liar. Yes, my brother may have been visiting a whore house, but if there is one thing he loves it’s a fight. All of you here know he would never abandon a fight or warriors in the field. He is winning this war. Robert claimed victory at the Battle of the Bells and he will crush Rheagar at the Trident. If he hasn’t done so already, provided the caitiff Rheagar found the stones to fight him that is. Then our grand alliance will root out the madness in Kings Landing and put an end to the shadow of fear over the Seven Kingdoms once and for all." There was a series of shouts and the crowd was once again his. But Lord Stannis was not finished.

"Make no mistake Mace Tyrell knows he is on the wrong side of this fight. He knows it morally and he knows it practically. He had enough of fighting my brother so he is camped out here with an army that he could have taken to pincer our brave brethren months ago. I don’t blame him, I wouldn’t want to loose any more men against Robert either,” Stannis said finishing with a bold laugh. There were laughs and a few shouts of ours is the fury.

“Second. I have shared every hardship with you and so has my family. Renly come. Show them our faith in our brother and his cause.” Stannis had his paige unhook his plate and chain. Stannis himself took of his armor. The crowd below could see how the still powerful man had lost almost 2 stone. The boy bravely stood before the crowd and took off his shirt revealing his rib and ever distending belly. The looks in the crowd if they were angry before were now almost murderous.

“Third, we are not fighting here to seat my brother on the throne. We aren’t even fighting here to get rid of the current branch of Targaryens. We are fighting here because there needs to be accountability in those who are responsible for law and order. A man can't just kidnap another man’s betrothed, and this is nothing but a kidnapping. Even if you want to believe that Rhaegar asked Lyanna to come with him, why wait until she was almost at the alter to act? Do you really believe the Prince whose father enjoyed raping his wife for years would take no for an answer?" Hell noes and no Rapist King rejoined Stannis' question. 

"Lastly those men outside our gates have been there for the better part of a year. Most of you are career soldiers, many of you fought with me against Maelys. Do you honestly believe they are just going to end this siege without a sack of some kind? Even if they did what do you think Aerys would order? Care to wager your life or your wife’s honor on lord fat flower to defy the mad king?” Again more hell noes accompanied the lord's questions.

With that Davos knew Stannis had them for good.

“Now do any of the rest of you actually believe I don’t recognize your faces? Better yet, do any of you actually dispute fighting with my loyal guards?” Each of them shook their heads.

“Then I hereby sentence you all to death!” The defendants were lead to a wall opposite the courtyard where their ropes were tied to heavy stones. At the sound of drums men at arms brought out covered baskets and placed them at regular intervals in front of the crowd. When they were all stationed there was signal and the canvas was lifted.

Davos of course knew that they were filled with stones. At once there was a wailing from three of the condemned.

“I am not a cruel man...” Lord Stannis began. However, Ser Doman cut him off.

“Like hell you aren’t! If you’re going to kill us do it decent like. Hemp Rope or Block!” he cried in vain.

Cries of ‘shut up you bastard’ drowned him out. However, there were other murmurings in the crowd. Some of them crying for a more merciful end, though the majority went the other way. Some of those methods proscribed included drawing and quartering and crucifixion. Davos swore never to commit any crimes in Storm's End.

The gong rang once, twice and the people were silent.

“In most circumstances I would simply use a noose or my sword. But what you did wasn’t just a crime against me.” He turned to face the crowd “If they had succeeded they would have placed every man, woman and child in the hands of the mad king’s puppets."

"I won’t force any man or woman to pass judgment on these crimes. I leave that to your own conscience but my sentence stands or falls on one point. Are we standing as one against what waits outside this wall or are we not?”

Davos didn’t see it but a washerwoman murmured something close to fucking traitor and brushed past him. A second later a stone careened off the head of a still cursing Ser Doman.

That broke the dam. Men and women of every walk of life picked up stones and began pelting the condemned for what seemed like hours, but was probably only two minutes. Davos was surprised to find he had tossed a fist size stone at one of the shorter men. With all the blood it was hard to tell who was who. He noted that most of the fighting men were the most enthusiastic. In the excitement Davos still noted that Master Cressen, Renly and Stannis had not participated.

Then the gong rang again. Everyone stopped.

“As mine is the voice that ordered the sentence, mine is the sword that will grant mercy!”

With that the lanky lord walked to each prisoner and pierced their heart with his long sword.

He nodded at Davos once before walking back to his keep, Renly and Cressen trailing behind him. As they walked by the people of Storms End began to chant the obvious rejoinder.

OURS IS THE FURY! Ours is the FURY! Ours is the FURY! It was said later than Mace Tyrell wet himself in surprise.

Needless to say there were no more attempts let alone talk of surrender or mutiny and little Renly received no more 'hungry' looks.

Three months later Lord Eddard Stark rode to their relief with the news the war all was but over.


	3. Eddard I

Justice consists not in being neutral between right and wrong,   
but in finding out the right and upholding it, wherever found, against the wrong.   
Theodore Roosevelt

**Eddard Stark**  
Storm’s End  
Fifth Month of 283 AC

The grey eyed, brown haired lord rode past the outer gate leading into the ancient seat of his estranged best friend. At his tail were his chosen guard, men he had built bonds of trust, friendship and loyalty with over the bloody tragedy men called Robert’s Rebellion. Slightly behind him and between them rode Mace Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Reach and his most effective battle commander Randyl Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill. Lord, no Prince Stannis had sent a messenger requesting Ned bring the two men with him when he formally informed the Baratheon household of King Robert’s demands.

It was a long drawn out affair, but to be fair pageantry was as much part of noble life as breathing and the defenders needed to recoup their morale and their wounded pride. Eddard snickered as the parade entered a trot and men in ‘best as they could do’ shined armor lined the road in attention. Yes, they had practically won the damn series of disorganized battles men called a war, but the cost weighed heavily on Ned's soul. Of the four children his now dead parents had sired, one had been horrifically murdered along side his sire. Another was imperiled in ways he didn’t care to think about and the last was even more guilt laden than Aerys would have been, should the beast have grown a conscience in the last minutes of his misbegotten life.

It was likely Benjen would beg leave to take the black, leaving Ned alone with what should have been Brandon's strange southron wife and responsibilities he wasn’t trained for. A path the wolf lord never expected and a which a part of him never wanted. Fleeting thoughts of a veiled woman with haunting purple eyes drifted in the corners of his mind. Then the 'quiet wolf' remembered that his much mourned impetuous brother had put paid to that fantasy long before his death mandated Ned take his place. It would seem that the man slyly mocked as the ‘quiet wolf’ would forever be cursed with his bolder brothers leavings, even in his private fantasies.

Lord Stark's increasingly depressing and uncharacteristically uncharitable thoughts towards his late brother were interrupted by a strange chant. He and his men had been heralded by shouts of ‘Ours is the fury’, ‘Winter is Coming’, ‘Up Baratheon’, ‘Up Robert or Stannis or even Renly’. However, the sounds coming from the centre of the courtyard were new. The voice was strong and powerful and didn't quite fit into any form of music Ned Stark had ever heard.

  
They said he was basic, just a bit dim,  
but the mad king, Rob displaced him  
Robert was dreaming of a better kingdom  
Now we can leave our old fears behind  
Not a yes sir, not a follower  
Fit the box, fit the mould, no sir  
Have a seat in the foyer, take a number  
Rob is lightning and the thunder

Then the men with spears thumped them vigorously thrice upon the stones, and everyone else stomped on the ground. Ned could swear the earth shook.  
Then a chorus began. It was made of mixed men and women. A few children's voices could be made out as well.

Thunder, thunder  
Thunder, thun', thunder  
Thun-thun-thunder, thunder, thunder  
Thunder, thun', thunder  
Thun-thun-thunder, thunder  
Thunder, feel the thunder  
Lightning then the thunder  
Thunder, feel the thunder  
Lightning then the thunder  
Thunder, thunder  
Thunder

Rheagar was laughing, kissing assess  
Aerys was scheming for the masses  
Who do you think ye be?  
Your only rights are the ones I give thee  
They said he was basic, said he was easy  
That we’d wrapped up in under four weeks  
Now Rob is smiling from the high stage  
They’re laying in state in the Red Keep

  
The chorus took up again, even louder before. Eddard could not believe that people who were under siege for so long could have so much energy. He suspected that the primary chanters had been fed especially well before this ‘performance’, but it was still impressive. Moreover, the singer they had gotten to perform the new tune was good. His voice wasn’t anything to write home about, but the way it jumped and warbled was very intriguing. The beat was eerie in its both complex and simple rhythm. 

When the Lord of Winter reached past the people in front of him he and his companions were in for more of a shock. The person who was singing was none other than Stannis Baratheon himself! The stunned north man turned to his right and left to see that Mace and Randyl had almost fallen from their horses. Ned knew that Stannis had taken a head wound in some mutiny, but this was outside his wildest expectations.

Everyone in his company expressed some form of shock except for one. The little crannogman behind him only narrowed his eyes and a gave a half smile as the youngest prince of the kingdom beckoned them to join him on the stage. Little Renly had a cup of what looked like watered down Arbor Gold, but the pitcher he poured for each of them was of the true strength.

Once the standard bragging and public thanks were done with. Ned and the lords were ushered into Prince Stannis’ solar.

  
Later on  
Inside Lord Baratheon's Room  
It contains a table length map of the seven kingdoms.

  
Prince Stannis Baratheon was dressed plainly, but not in his usual boiled leathers or grey plate. Instead he was wearing a neat doublet with the Baratheon colors and stag. Ned seriously doubted he would have been able to sing and gods be good dance in anything else. When he told Robert about this situation, the elder stag would never believe it. On the middle brother's head was a simple circlet of Iron wrought to look like the tines of a stag. A near identical but smaller circlet was on the head of the too small child seated beneath him.

“Lord Paramount Eddard,” the gaunt prince said with a slight nod. Ned wasn’t surprised to be addressed by his title. Stannis was always one to be strict regarding protocol. However, Stark was somewhat taken back as there was a softness to it, as though Stannis were offering condolences for the way Ned gained his unwanted promotion.

“Let me first say you have my condolences for the loss of you kin. Brandon might have been intemperate in his justifiable actions, but no one deserved to die like that. Not even that bastard of a mad king. I also know what it is like to lose my parents and there is very little I wouldn’t do to ensure the safety of Renly," said the not so stern man while he patted the child on the head lightly. Eddard’s jaw dropped as Renly hugged him on the leg.

Mace Tyrell actually let out air audibly in his surprise at Stannis’s show of affection. That caused Stannis face to harden and a fury quickly set into his eyes. Before Ned could open his mouth to attempt to stop something unfortunate from happening the rage left. It was as though some force had squashed it down with great intensity. Taking advantage of he lull Ned spoke in a businesslike manner.

“My Prince, I humbly accept your kind words of comfort. Though in the essence of brevity I would like to give you our King’s instructions so I may be about my equally important duties. Despite what some may believe the war isn’t over yet.” Ned believed those words would be enough get him on his way. Lord mace would be on his own. Though its was unlikely Stannis would do anything too drastic Lord Stark could spare no concern for the indolent lord while his sister was imperiled. 

“Yes, those still stubborn or loyal to the dragons have holed up at dragon stone with a fleet in being. They will likely no longer be a problem after a few months time but they may cause more flare ups of violence among the desperate or fanatical.” Stannis as usually was succinct in stating military matters and while Ned wanted to leave he was curious as to the terminology used by a recognized commander or men. However, he was beaten to the punch by his 'guest'.

“Fleet in being.. myPrince?” The voice of Lord Randyl Tarely echoed through the room, asking the question many them didn’t have the courage to field. For some reason Stannis didn’t object to the question or perhaps it was the respectful tone and inclusion of his title that made the difference. Stannis seemed a bit off center for the first time, as though he had made a strategic blunder yet he answered confidently.

“A fleet in being lord Randyl, is a force that is a threat by simply existing despite being insufficient to present a serious strategic or tactical danger by itself. Currently Rhaela’s forces don’t have the man power or supplies to actually commit to any action. They are hoping that some other loyalist faction with enough men will be inspired by their presence to join with them." Having started his lesson Prince Stannis opted to finish it.

"For instance if Dorne were to feel slighted enough by the unfortunate deaths of the Princess Elia and her babes to welcome them they would then have an actual army to transport behind our lines. It would then give loyalists and other opportunists hope that the STAB alliance could be flanked and broken. As it is they will starve fairly shortly as the Iron Bank will not accept such a gamble and they lack the funds to hire enough sell words to matter. Even if they had to the coin to afford to feed everyone there they don’t have the infrastructure to repair and maintain their ships horses and equipment. It’s been a long time since Aegon’s conquest and they have more ships than have been serviced there in hundreds of years." There were nods of agreement across the table as Stannis moved pieces across the map to simulate various possible combinations of alliances.

Each of the various attempts ended in defeat either in the field after being surrounded by rebel forces or from lack of supplies. The prince explained the horrible position the loyalists were in and even when he granted them inflated numbers their cause fissiled out in under a year. Ned realized this short exercise was for the benefit of Mace and Randyl more than his own comfort. After all logic had little meaning to the devotion of men of the Kingsguard and a desperate group of men would only be more dangerous.

The lord of Wintefell waited for the prince to wind down his lecture with a mix of awe and trepidation. For the remaining three golden warriors were not fools and could count as well as the next man. How would they take this situation?

"I should also point out that Dragon Stone is not an island with a developed ship bay, so their navy is exposed to the elements. Any storm that hits would scatter and likely wreck their fleet. They are presenting a challenge by threatening to cut off Kings landing by Sea. One they hope to turn into a limited battle where Robert’s forces will rush into piece meal and be crushed."

"Doing so wouldn’t actually change a damn thing, but it would let them distract their sailors from their eventual fate. It might also net them some extra supplies and maybe a few defectors. Robert wants me to use the treasury to build a fleet and crush them before they give anyone ideas. Though honestly leaving them to rot would be the most cost effective solution." That comment brought a wry grin from Randyl and Howland but a look of shock from Lord Mace.

"Of course if their commander had a lick of sense they would sail to Bravos with whatever they could spare, covert it to gold and set up shop as traders to gain enough wealth and Esssosi connections to try again in the next generation. Stopping that would be very sensible, though I seriously doubt they have that much sense. After all sound logic isn’t exactly something the Targaryens of this generation treasured in their followers.” There were guffaws from his men, those of lord Stannis and even Randyl smiled. Of course said smile was a very ugly thing.

This time Eddard took charge of the conversation and delivered his letter. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest that Stannis knew what the gist of his orders were or Robert’s reasoning behind the orders. The wolf lord actually found he agreed with both of their assessments. A new navy was needed even if wasn’t used because it would demonstrate Baratheon power. And the longer they waited, the hungrier and more desperate those at Dragon Stone would become. The specter of their deaths might spark a mass defection, ending the war without another costly siege.

Stannis had used a few more strange words and phrases, but Ned believed he could figure them out in context or ask someone later. It was better to avoid risking Baratheon rage. Stannis was acting calmly and speaking logically in the presence of the man who starved him and his brother for months. So deciding to leave well enough alone; Ned spoke with a courteous yet powerful voice.

“Be that as it may you are hereby instructed to take command of that navy and put an end to this war. The princess and her children are to be taken into custody by yourself and delivered to the King.” Stannis took the letter broke the seal and after glancing over it smirked in an ugly manner before placing it down.

“I believe the words used were put an end to this war," the prince said. His black Baratheon eyes bored into Ned’s own, a silent understanding that Stannis perfectly understood Roberts’ preferred state of being for said remaining Targaryens. Before Ned could say more or wonder exactly how much Stannis knew about the deaths of Elia and her children, how the hell Stannis knew it would be him relieving the siege or if the rumors be true the methods of death the mad king and son met the prince continued.

“I accept these orders and I have already set instructions to assemble the required labor, warriors and supplies. As for confirmation of these orders I’ll send ravens to kings landing but I also feel I must needs ensure the delivery of these newly leal lords and their forces to the secure the capital."

"As such I will be heading to Kings Landing myself. Fear not I will be back long before the fleet is completed. I also have some instructions for those here as well.” Stanis then turned to the lordly prisoners in all but name before him.

“As Prince my first order is that Lord Paramount Mace Tyrell remain my guest here until this war has concluded. Lord Randly Tarely will command the reach component of his majesties forces from this moment forward.” He stared the large man, whose jaw had fallen, in his green eyes while daring him to speak. Mace wisely kept his mouth shut.

“Do not fret. I won’t starve you, however you will go on a reasonable diet and be allowed to train regularly in the yard. My new master of arms will be at your disposal daily, and I hope you will make use of him."

"I will also have documents I require you to sign. Again don’t fret I wont be taking any territories from you, as I have no authority from the crown to do so. However, you will relinquish a certain amount of food and manpower to my garrison immediately. I will contact you if I have further need of your services.” Recognizing the dismissal for what it was the Lord Paramount bowed and left the solar.

“Now that most of the incompetence in this part of the kingdom is off to bed without supper we can get the real work done.” That garnered more laughs, even from Ned himself. The gaunt lord then turned to Lord Randyl.

“You will assess the troops, sell swords and levies you currently have. The fodder will be sent home. But before they are dismissed they will spend at least 5 months repairing and improving territories at my discretion. I trust I don’t have to explain their wages will be at Lord flower’s expense.”

Lord Randly smiled. “Yes, I might be a former Targaryen loyalist, but I hope to convince you I have at least some sense.”

“You do not have a high bar to reach my lord. The better end of your horse will accompany a mixed force of Stark and my own banner men to help secure the capital. The foot will proceed to the capital at their own pace under escort. If there is no need for them they will join the force described in your orders and secure the realm."

"All weapons and food not required to meet these goals will be distributed according the orders I have drawn up. Do you have any other questions or concerns?” Randyl looked at him and shook his head.

“I would have to check those orders to see if they are realistic, but knowing your reputation I doubt I will find much I can improve on,” said the lord of Horn Hill, which was basically high praise. Tarly bowed and left the room, as unlike his liege he could read the situation clearly.

Lord Stark made to bow but the prince cut him off. “You do not have my leave to find your sister yet Lord Paramount Stark. May we speak privately?”

Stark looked at his men, the six who he trusted more than almost any save his brother in Winterfell. "Anything you may say in front of me you can say before them.” Stannis smiled as though he already knew the answer. It was not the first time Ned had that feeling of being tested for something he couldn’t understand in his presence and he knew it would not be the last.

“I believe Prince Renly was promised a dessert in the kitchens if he behaved himself as a prince of the realm should. Would you kindly make sure he gets his due Maester?” The old man smiled knowingly and led the excited boy away from what he thought of as more boring talk of supplies. The only Baratheon retainer that stayed was a lowborn knight wearing fine gloves and a bag of some sort around his neck. Though if Stannis trusted him, he must have had his reasons.

“Nicely done my Prince. The boy will suspect nothing and be grateful for the excuse to be away from being bored senseless," said the heir of The Neck, slightly out of turn. The voice of the Howland Reed was thoughtful, even as it sounded amused. Ned might have rebuked his friend for impertinence, but Reed never did things without reason. When Stannis smiled and nodded, Eddard realized that his man was simply building report with the man and gauging his new personality. And It was quite the change as the prince proved with his next words.

“My lords is it possible for us to take off our titles and speak as family men and friends?” Not for the last time was Eddard Stark surprised by what he found coming from the mouth of Robert's middle brother. His head nodded of its own accord.

“Let me be frank. You play a dangerous game and you are doing so rather half assed! While even in my own home I can’t speak the words I wish; I must warn you that not every Baratheon is as willfully blind as my brother. That and not everyone is as idiotic as my late unlamented scaled cousin. How exactly did you plan to go about your search? And please tell me you 7 weren’t going to stroll around in easily identifiable garments in hostile territory when half of you lack good plate. And let us not forget there are still 3 kings guard, arguably the best of the fanatically loyal lot unaccounted for. And there is no guarantee they don't have additional loyalist or sell sword forces with them.” Stannis stopped to let the words sink in and or accept any challenge.

Ned took the words like a slap. He was about to tell the king’s brother to mind his own 7 damned business and that his sister was important to him. Only then the words sunk in. Eddard was about to ride off somewhere in Dorne with a letter demanding compliance from Doran and the Prince intimated he knew already. More ever he was relying on speed and small numbers to keep secrecy and the letter to protect him against attacks, but the kingsguard might not care. They might not even be alone. A part of him screamed that he was being just as impetuous as Brandon.

Eddard turned to find his compatriots equally shifting between shock, rage and shame. Lord Howland Reed’s face was pensive, though he only nodded. None of them said anything as they came to similar conclusions, that their plan was rather desperate. Well that and attacking Stannis Baratheon verbally in his own home was madness similar to that of Aerys, his prior permission non withstanding.

“Good you are thinking about the problem and separating your own ego from the situation. It is the first step to making a successful strategy. Let us consider this problem scientifically.” Stannis once again pointed at the table. This time in the region of the Riverlands.

“This is where your sister was taken. Does anyone here have an accurate memory of the dates of the war and estimated locations of the forces involved. It always pays to have more than one source.” The prince then waved and the knight, whose name Ned couldn't remember walked over and unrolled a parchment before them all.

“This is Ser Davos Seaworth, the smuggler who kept us from eating corpses.” The knight bowed slightly and placed his right fist in between his left palm curling the fingers over his knuckles. At once Eddard remembered the weird ceremony. In truth he simply preferred to ignore many things recently due to his concern for Lyanna. No to mention keeping track of all of the new princes 'eccentricities' would be impossible. Ned would have to ask Howland for more details later as the small man never seemed to forget anything important.

“Good day my lords. I am here t, to offer my wisdom concerning sea travel times and lo..logistics. I am happy to have the chance to redeem my past crimes against the realm with leal service.” He smiled a roguish smile at his lord. Obviously he was proud of saying those sentences without breaking into common drawl. Stannis however, rolled his eyes. It wasn’t done out of malice though and their camaraderie was self evident.

“Enough Davos. If I wanted a trained parrot or monkey I would have sent to the Summer Isles,” spoke the lord of the castle in a faux gruff voice. Stannis then pointed a finger at the location of the ‘kidnapping’ and got the ball rolling.

“Date of taking!” Stannis said in a more serious voice. Lord Reed answered first,“June toward the end 982 AC”. Then he pointed to the first place and time Rhaegar was confirmed to be seen. From there they worked out how much time it would take for a small group to make it from one place to another without making a scene on foot or ship.

Ser Davos had a keen mind for evading detection, as a famous and free smuggler would have to. They worked out with simple logic that Rheagar had to be operating somewhere within the area called the Princes Pass. It really wasn’t shocking that a Stormlander would have detailed information of Dorne as the two kingdoms had been fighting each other before Aegon united the 7 kingdoms.

What was surprising was that Stannis had a crumbling map and a rough copy of it depicting a list of hold fasts and old castles along said pass. Within the hour they had narrowed down the location of where his sister was likely held to three locations and Ser Davos and Stannis gave their impression it was a place call Lord Dener's Needle.

“So how would you suggest we do this Stannis?” The prince turned to look at Jory Cassel’s father and raised an eyebrow.

“What? The man asked us not to be formal Ned.” The north men for all their titles tended to be somewhat guileless. Most when hearing relaxed would still affix a lord this and that to address a bloody prince. Stannis instead of taking offence laughed.

“I’m just surprised you are asking for advice instead of saddling the nearest horses and running off to adventure.” At this Ned did take some umbrage.

“This is my sister’s life not some southron tale of knights and maidens. I believe you were the one telling us to consider this seriously” Eddard said with some heat. Stannis instead of responding as his brother would by yelling or making another inappropriate joke bobbed his head a few times in agreement. Ned had the distinct feeling Stannis had goaded him into acting a certain way yet again.

“My apologies for the ill timed jest Stark. It seems my words struck more deeply than I intended. I would suggest a force of 20 to thirty men on horse with lances and crossbows. I also can have my smiths equip you will full plate harness and I can grant each of your riders 2 changes of horse. Don't worry about the expense, after all our newest loyalist is paying for it. Mis..Ser Davos can deliver you to Wyll and you can set out from there.” Then his voice dropped to almost a whisper and he leaned in. Everyone gathered closer to him.

“I also suggest that you forget chivalry and any code of honor in this secret mission. There are substances that can disable a man if he inhales them or they make contact with his skin by causing pain, itching or drowsiness. I can have my Maester mix some of these for you and they can be deployed in a variety of ways including on weapons or tossed in containers. Said containers can be made to look like ordinary spirit bottles." There were a few gasps at that suggestion, but Stannis raised is voice.

"Before you decry the lack of honor consider that these are fanatics that stood by as the Mad King raped and burned and defiled every tradition of the seven kingdoms.  
They are the ones who took honor and flipped its concept on its head. It would be better for everyone to take them alive, but if comes to a choice between your sister’s life and how others look at you what will you chose? I chose my brother, both of them."

"I didn’t rush out of this castle to fight Mace Tyrell man to man in single combat, despite how men mocked me. I stayed right here and starved so his army wouldn’t leave or suddenly grow a brain and trap Robert at the Trident. Though honestly I suspect Randyl wasn’t in any rush to save Rheagar to begin with." Then the prince's voice took on a less pedantic, but no less authoritative tone.

"In an ideal situation you could just reason with them or lure them out in a fight then douse them with itching powder and club them down with a pole arm, club or the flat of your swords. But we don’t even know if they will be alone or reasonable. After all whatever final orders they have would be the summation of their life's duty. These are men who have foresworn everything to follow their calling as Kings guard. That included common decency, moral guidelines and basic human compassion or have you not noticed that they have followed along with everything else the dragons have done so far. They might see themselves as having nothing left to loose and final orders to prevent the return of their captive above all else.”

The northerners and even Davos gasped but not for the same reason Ned and Howland did. Though Eddard believed such spiteful orders were indeed capable of existing even he didn't believe Stannis would voice such concerns. But to the others non honorable combat between social near equals was anathema. In their eyes to capture or kill the embodiment of honorable knights in that way would be unthinkable to most people. That Stannis could propose this was almost unthinkable. Then again that his brother by choice would rejoice at the deaths of babes was something Ned thought unthinkable as well. Until it happened that is.

That was not the only surprising thing that Stannis said or did. He pulled Ned along and away from the others while they debated just which of his suggestions had merit. For a man starved so long his vigour was impressive. Yes Eddard could have stopped him, after all being in a siege didn’t make one physically more powerful, but what Stannis had to say in private after that suggestion both frightened and intrigued him.

“You must also consider certain other possibilities. I can provide you with Maester Cressen or you can find a non affiliated doctor from Essos.” Ned didn’t catch his drift then he spoke more plainly.

“Or a midwife skilled with the blade and sanitary conditions. I have a treatise on sterilization and applying it to tools, barber’s tools and strong spirits that I insist you take with you and have whoever you select use." When Ned shock kept his tongue silent the middle Baratheon continued.

"There has been enough tragedy already and the death of yet more children will not be something the gods old or new will blame house Baratheon for while I live.”

Ned’s eyes bulged as his secret fears were laid bare before the man related to his former best friend and king. His heart raced until the words sank into his ears. Stannis was offering to help him.

“I have sent a bird towards Winterfell for a ship out of White Harbor to come here to meet your needs. If there are any northern captains you trust in the capitol or elsewhere they can travel to meet you in Wyll or wherever else you desire." Then the strange lord of the stormlands gave him a wry smile.

"I hear that Bravos is a lovely place to visit to recuperate from the horrors of war.”

When Eddard continued to not speak. The prince smiled warmly before leaning into his ear.

“Remember this. Honor doesn’t come from your name, or your sword or even a title you earn, honor comes from the man or woman. It can’t bet taken from you it must be given away.” With that he walked to rejoin the discussion which had grown a bit less heated. The cronnogman was unsurprisingly in favor of dousing the kings guard while his strongest opponent was Martyn Cassel.

The discussion ended a few hours later and the various lords went to bed. Ned didn’t sleep more than a few hours. He suspected that none of his compatriots did either. Millions of thoughts and plans ran though his head and he knew that the choice was his alone to make. His to make and live with and somewhere in the early twilight Ned made his decision.

A few weeks later his men boarded a ship crewed by northmen sworn to the Manderlys of White Harbor. He was fortunate that they had been nearby and had shown up to pledge leal service in the hopes of gaining a reward. The forty armed and armored mounted men Stark brought with him would go a great way to ensuring they kept that vow.

Before Ned joined them he went to talk to Stannis one more time.

“I see you are feeling better. I hope you got at least some sleep after last nights feast. So many people got drunk that I doubt many remember who they are or where they were.”

Ned smiled at the fox. He deliberately made it so many in Storms End wouldn’t be functional during their little debate, which despite the need for secrecy had gotten heated more than once.

“Once I made the best decision I could I found my restlessness faded.”

“That tends to happen to me as well Lord Stark. I also don’t want to know what you are planning either. He is my brother after all.”

“And what you don’t know you can’t be asked to tell.” Ned said it without anger or accusation. What he was doing might end up being treason, but to do otherwise would be as monstrous as what Tywin or Aerys had done. Was this how Ser Jaime and the others felt every day in the Red Keep?

What kind of man could keep sane with that on his conscious, weighing on his soul.

Just as abruptly Stannis turned to him and reached out his arm. “Good fortune to you Stark may the worst of our dreams be nothing but hot air.”

He returned the greeting. “Good fortune to you Baratheon, May the Storm do your work for you before you get there.”

Ned clasped his arm firmly but he wasn’t done with the conversation.

“If you ever have need of house Stark at any time simply send a raven. As long as I live none of your children will be without safe refuge.” With that he left the prematurely balding man behind as he rode off to his ship.

Eddard Stark feared he had lost a brother in the capitol, but he knew he had found another in Storms End. If only sisters were less complicated.


	4. Stannis II

“The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.”  
Theodore Parker

  
**Stannis**  
Storms End   
Eighth Month of 283 After Conquest

“Ya!” I rolled my slightly larger than average buckler to the right, shielding my forward thrust. Ser Davos swung his imitation pattern 1917 US Naval cutlass in the diagonal defense that I showed him and picked off my near identical blade with a flick of his wrist. I then saw the back side rim of his own mini shield hurtling toward my skull. I couldn't help but think it unfair how everyone seemed to learn things so damn fast in the books. Part of me wanted to clap at his rapid improvement. Of course the more jealous part remembered how many weeks of grueling instruction and mat time in the Brownesville HEMA club it took me to master that counter.

With a side step I brought my shoulder up and checked the blow just below his elbow with my forearm. That left him exposed to my own shield, which caught him just under his sternum.

“Uff!” went the former smuggler turned knight, as he fell back with a grunt. Winded, he retreated a few steps and bowed, signaling the end of our match and from the looks of the sweat pouring down his face the sparring session altogether. I returned the bow and our pages took our weapons and returned them to their places on the nearby rack.

We had been sparring even before I formerly inducted him into my service almost two months ago. I learned a lot about him in the time that passed. Davos currently had three near adult children, who I made squires in training. For both of our sakes I had them protecting Renly and that would keep them out of danger. I really didn’t want anything bad happening to his children this early in our relationship, and hopefully not ever.

My initial estimations of Davos’ good character were confirmed by observing his sons. All three of them were decent human beings, even by my ‘modern’ set of standards. They got along with each other as well as I did with my own brothers; Darl and Hasheem. When they fought or argued the violence between them was never serious and hard feelings were non existent soon after they cooled down. They had the usual vices men of his era did namely gambling, drinking and visits to ‘certain ladies’, however they were far less exaggerated than my body’s current sibling. ‘Which means they are less wet than the sea’ replied the cynical part of my mind. It flared up whenever I compared anyone to Robert Baratheon.

Aside from managing a healthy family despite not seeing them for long stretches at a time, Davos ran a fairly efficient crew. His finances were also surprisingly well organized for someone who was totally illiterate and without access to a maester. Not that I could talk as I had become fairly dependant on Cressen to handle my writing. For some reason my muscle memory wasn’t quite good enough to keep me from breaking quills every half page or so. The good news was my drawings of a simple metal quill were looking like they would bear fruit as soon as the black smith Donal Noye and his assistants had the time to focus on it. I also had ideas on a super sized ball point pen, but even that would be a ways off. The available ink wasn’t all that great either, but I couldn’t do anything about that until I could get some kind of basic chemistry lab going. I realized there were clear limits to ‘state of the art’ here, even for the knowledge base of a Lord Paramount’s family.

As I walked down the hall towards my ‘personal rest room’ one of 4 installed in Stormsend, I ran into Mathos Seaworth. At this time of the day he was likely returning from a practice bout with his younger brother.

“Hey lad when are you going to hit the showers? No offense but I smelled you coming down the hall.” I really wanted to get them in the habit of cleanliness from now.

“My prince jests. Surely he can detect the royal musk coming from his own person no?” he replied. I laughed a few minutes before slapping the lad on the back. We passed each other and I opened the door, disrobed and placed my sweat soiled clothes on hooks.

Then I walked to a partition pulled a lever that rang a bell and turned a metal bar. Cool salt water began to fall from the round pepper shaped metal device one foot above my head. If I had wanted to wait I could have had it heated but I didn’t care. The stench of my workout washed itself down the drain beneath my feet as I thought about what exactly I had managed to accomplish since I arrived.

It was my greatest and only non military invention to date. Most of my skilled laborers were busy working on my more important and immediate projects. Well, when they weren’t doing other more vital work for the war effort that is. The first thing I had them work on was a basic water pump and nozzle system. With it and some wooden pipes sealed with tar and metal cuffs I took my first actual shower 5 weeks after I arrived here. Yeah it was mostly heated sea water, but I and whoever I wanted to share with could now get clean in less than 12 minutes! That was much better than waiting four goddamn hours for some servants to fill a tub. Until I got here I never in my life realized how much I took being clean for granted.

I prayed to just about every god I ever heard off that these people had a basic understanding of water pressure, but aside from aqueducts and fountains found in the more sedidy houses those were a no go. So instead of a toilet I had to settle for a very simple water closet. It was basically a seat that emptied into a pool that filled with water manually released and drained with a set of levers. It drained into the primitive sewer system we already had. Maester Cressen was greatly impressed by both ideas and said he would ask around about how to improve the concept of pneumatics. What was funny is they understood the word, but never developed the principles. Or if they did, the ‘citadel conspiracy’ to maintain the ‘dung ages’ was real.

To be honest I wasn’t really surprised at my own sudden inventiveness. It turned out military life taught me enough simple engineering to make that kind of stuff. Civilians don’t realize just how inventive the standard sailor gets when stranded away from civilization. Of course we usually had raw materials like pipes and plastic tubes, but the point still stood. If I actually knew how to make a silvered mirror I’d be able to put together a solar oven with enough time. To be honest I was expecting a bit of push back over my ‘discovery’ of a new method of cleanliness and subsequent demands that everyone in my presence shower daily.

However, since what I was doing wasn’t really inventing but applying things they already knew about in better ways they didn’t break out with the ‘burn the witch’ bit. That and I was Stannis I’ll stone your ass to death for fucking with me Baratheon. Yet, to be on the safe side I decided to leave any further creativity till after the war was over and rely on less obvious skills. Such abilities were my somewhat limited knowledge of age of sail naval tactics, history and general meteorology. Spending nine years in logistics in both the coast guard and navy gave me a very practical understanding of navigating various kinds of seas, marshes and lakes. Not to mention between OG Stannis and Davos' first hand knowledge of the terrain I felt confident I could predict how the ebb and flow the seasons impacted naval combat as well as anyone else.

I exited the shower to find a dry towel and my pre selected change of clothes neatly pressed and on a forged lead hanger. Ok I sort of invented that too, but they already used heated irons to remove wrinkles from clothes. Why shouldn’t I make their efforts more efficient? ‘Because they will think you are a demon inhabiting their lord’s body perhaps?’ came a sardonic response. I pushed the unwanted quip to the back of my thoughts as I contemplated the relative advantages of a modern education and skill set being introduced into Westerosi culture.

See there was one more advantage that I had coming into this that I couldn’t underestimate. Though it was at times a disadvantage it was a crucial part of survival in Westeros. Even before I was Master Chief Petty Officer (retired) Raheem Alonzo Tenneson I had a thing for swords. In fact I loved highlander so much I decided to learn how wield them myself. I didn’t take epee or fencing, no I decided to learn actual battlefield weapons. Which suited me when I selected N.R.O.T.C in college. The naval saber, cutlass and later a weapon called the Estoc were the things I practiced; both in collegiate clubs and in HEMA bouts. Though I didn’t actually wear replica armor until I took up with the Estoc, and that was after I got out of the service.

The obvious advantage to my current position was I could in theory combine Stannis’ above average knowledge of the short, long and great sword with my more modern forms to create a style no one would expect. While Stannis was not as great a warrior as his older brother, such a phrase was ‘not worth more than a tinkers damn’. What he said. Stannis was taller than most men, stronger than many and actually quite young despite his early hair loss and premature graying. In fact Robert actually died before he was thirty eight, and looking at both Stannis and Robert I couldn’t help but wonder if their physical degradation wasn’t caused more by lifestyle and attitude than some genetic accident. All in all Stannis could well develop into a much better warrior than his brother giving the right training, weapon choice and application.

The reason it came as disadvantage was the confusion. I personally was used to using slightly to moderately curved swords, baring the last. And I honestly didn’t seriously practice the Estoc, a type of long or great sword, until relatively recently. Meaning that in the yard I could occasionally get confused as to which form from which set of memories I should be applying. It had cost me more than a few bouts in the yard and being clumsy with weapons was not something any lord, let alone a Baratheon famed as a deadly battle commander could afford. Fortunately, I was training with men I trusted and I was improving rapidly. Plus, I could always do what I did whenever something about me seemed odd and blame it on Ser Doman! Fortunately, by my new Master of Arms Ser Harold Tarshen’s estimate Stannis would be back to his original level of skill within a few more months.

Unfortunately, I had not intention of waiting that long. Yes, it would take the better part of a year to fully rebuild and properly train a new, and more importantly loyal fleet. However, the Targaryen fleet in being near dragons stone became a fleet in annoyance. As in annoyingly raiding and striking at our allies near the gulf facing Kings Landing. Said annoyance was enough to cause my brother to send a number of ravens and a put upon rider my way ‘politely’ asking me to get off my rump and finally contribute something to the war.

After spending more that a few hours calming the remnant of OG Stannis in my mind I sought out a reasonable plan of action after considering the problem. They had more ships than anything we could put in the region right now, but not enough to actually close the mouth of the bay. This created an opportunity for Stannis to do something he didn’t do in history ‘Gain some rightful glory, while accomplishing something practical’. I allowed the voice to finish the thought. ‘You know well that we have skilled and loyal sailors and can get sufficient ships with our available funds without breaking our budget or slowing down our construction timetable. I believe we should introduce whatever desperate commander Rhealla has gotten herself to the age old concept of defeat in detail.’ I actually couldn’t have agreed more with my erstwhile partner.

It was a good thing that my resident ex smuggler happened to know someone who had a few ships and crew he could lend. Well for a negotiable price that is. It wasn’t long before I found myself speaking to a certain gold and silver tooth possessing, multi wived and flamboyantly dressed Lyseni.


	5. Cressen I

Peace is more important than all justice;  
and peace was not made for the sake of justice,  
but justice for the sake of peace.  
Martin Luther

  
Maester Cressen  
Storms End  
Slightly after the execution of Ser Doman

Second Month of 283 AC

The elderly grey haired man knew he was not in the best of health, and that was before the siege cut off almost all food entering the castle he had spent more than two decades in. The chained master caught his breath and walked his 60 year old frame across his sparse but comfortable room to answer the self styled prince Baratheon.

It had taken three minutes or so to throw on his comfortable thick robe, use its left sleeve to wipe the sleep from his eyes and don his multicolor chain of office. Cressen had learned that protocol was very important to Stannis, or at least it used to be. The relatively small boy who knocked on his door again was wearing only his small clothes.

Maester Cressen sighed. If his brother saw him about the castle in this state of undress the results would not be pleasant. Yes, Stannis had never struck the boy in anger or punished him without reason. But there were many ways to scar someone and far to many of those methods left no obvious mark.

Prior to his display of affection a few days ago Maester Cressen would be hard pressed to name one showing of warmth from his ‘middle’ son. Part of him hoped Stannis would remember it after the last of his injuries fully healed. The other half of Cressen feared what Stannis would feel compelled to do to himself and others to ‘redeem’ his display of ‘weakness’ and ‘undue sentimentality’.

“How may I help you lord Renly?” The greying man's voice was patient despite the hour and having been disturbed from a rather pleasant dream of two quite nubile and wanton cousins. Yes, Maesters were men with the desires of men. The natural results of such desires was what the robe was meant to obscure. A shiver went down his spine at the thought of the consequences a potential misunderstanding involving his youngest charge. Earlier today Stannis Baratheon had seven men stoned for treason. Cressen had sat calmly and watched as men were turned into to sacks of bleeding meat by an angry mob, then the boy he had bounced on his knee ran them through like sausages on a skewer. Wearing his more familiar stone face; Stannis had even made little Renly watch. What would he do to a man he believed not only betrayed him but harmed his younger brother?

Such thoughts were enough to drive away all thoughts of the curvaceous women from his youthful days in the upper loft within the Dream Of Roses “Inn”. He and some of his fellow acolytes, and more than a few chained Maesters, spent many such nights ‘studying higher mysteries’ in that fine Old Town institution. His blood cooled and his ‘old scholar’ returned to its more peaceful state. Yes, Stannis was certainly changed yet again. The boy the old man knew was dutiful, even over serious yes, but open to those he trusted. Adult Stannis pushed everyone away and could show no emotion save rage. Cressen had only just been able to keep him from sending three men whose faith in the Baratheon cause had been lacking to their doom via catapult. While the men did need to die, Cressen knew such cruel actions would do Stannis harm he could not see, thus he had appealed to the logic of potentially needing their meat.

Another shudder crossed his spine and like the previous one it had little to do with the chill coming from the sea. Storms End's forty foot thick walls made such an excuse ludicrous. It was the fact the master had to use the specter of cannibalism to stay Stannis’ hand that made the old man question how much influence his Targaryen grandmother’s blood had taken root. While he didn’t believe the ‘flipping coin’ theory Cressen had hoped he raised his ‘children’ to loath such punishments. When his little Stan ha hugged his brother Cressen was shocked but secretly rejoicing in the fact some good had come from his injuries. But that execution and how ‘Prince’ Stannis made little Renly be present for it, the imitation of his hard visage written across the child who both idolized and feared him; left the master in dread.

Little Renly thankfully gave him a familiar petulant look in place of the face he made scant hours ago.

“You know it is Prince Renly now. My brother said it was.” Cressen sighed and patted him on the head. Renly slumped, but acted in the way he always did toward his surrogate father. At least one of his children hadn’t warped into something else. He would do all in his power to keep it so.

“Not until the ceremony and you get your circlet. You can’t be a prince without a circlet,” the chained man told the child lord. Cressen at least agreed with that plan. Stannis had the right of it, scheduling a ceremony honoring the coronation of his brother was a great way to capitalize on the good will generated by the.. execution. It would raise morale among the defenders and possible cause confusion among the besiegers. His faith in his brother’s prowess could cause no harm even though the logic behind Stannis’ claims of rebel victories were somewhat beyond credulence. If they actually had lost such claims would be irrelevant. However, if Robert's forces won or stalemated keeping Tyrell Banners here another month or so would make a difference.

“But you didn’t wake me up to get your circlet early did you? You aren’t a baby anymore and you know Noye can’t magic it up by your leave? Because as much as I love you, I’d have to punish you, Prince or not..” The little boy showed a bit of fear then. The old Stannis knew how to scare others with just a look. He likely was more afraid of his brother finding out than any punishment the Maester would dole out.

Then little Renly’s face became stern. It reminded him of what he saw earlier that day. A small face shouldn’t look that way. He knew why Stannis had acted that way, the necessity of it and the danger of their surrounding, but it screamed at his soul ‘This is not the way it should be. You have failed Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana!’

“No Maester Cressen. It’s about my brother. I think, no I know he is sick!” That shocked the grey bearded healer for two reasons. The first was that Renly addressed Stannis in such familiar terms. The second was that Renly felt he found an illness that escaped a chained Maester of the Citadel in good standing. The less than non plussed master took a deep breath and decided to give Renly the benefit of the doubt. Strange things were afoot, the new prince spent more time with Stannis than he did recently and Cressen had learned not to underestimate the ability of Baratheons to surprise him.

“What were the symptoms? Did he stumble, complain of pain anywhere in his head, show signs of dizziness?” Those were the biggest concerns with head injuries. Men would be alright for hours or even days after taking such wounds, then suddenly drop dead.

“No Maester. I think he is hurt here.” The small lord pointed at his heart. The man found himself speechless for a moment.

“From the mouth of babes.” It had come out without him realizing his lips moving. Renly gave him another stern look that Cressen realized was him trying to imitate Stannis. It wasn’t quite blood curdling yet. To be honest it was more endearing, but it wasn’t a good sign of things to come.

“I’m not a..” Cressen cut him off with another head pat.

“ I know exactly how old you are Renly Baratheon. I delivered you screaming and red faced from your mother six years and four moons ago. I believe I’ve told you many times before not to fix your face that way or one day..” Renly finished the sentence with him.

“It may stay like that.” The small, but still larger for his age, child didn’t roll his eyes. However, Cressen knew he was thinking about it.

This time the Maester grabbed the petulant ‘prince’ by his left ear.

“Ow, ow,” the child said. As usual the maester took the boy by surprise, for Cressen while not quite as devoted a practitioner of ancient Valyerian mind-body meditations as Pycelle, was not ignorant of their effectiveness in keeping the body functional in old age.

“Don’t back talk me young man. You are not a lord yet!” And by that time Cresson would likely be dead. So any conceivable retribution would be moot, however the lesson about being not being a spoiled brat might outlive him. He released the black haired child a second later.

“I understand Maester Cressen. Please don’t tell Lord Stannis.” Then Renly made the puppy eyes he was known for and Cressen relented. The only person who was immune to them was Lord Stannis, his eldest brother and everyone else melted before them. It worked in much the same way women were smitten by Robert’s smile or men quaked before the glare of Stannis.

“Fine. Provided you behave and remember not to walk around in your small clothes like a infant or wake adults up at all hours of the night as newborns are wont to do.” The he painfully knelt so that he was eye level with Renly.

“As for you worries. It is good you love your brother, but masters don’t fix those kinds of hurts.” Seven knew Cressen had tried to get Stannis to open up with his pain. Sweets, trips to fairs, even trying to help the boy make new friends, Cressen had done them all.

None of it worked, not even hunting could bring Stannis out of his own mind even before the death of his parents.. The incident with ‘Proud Wing’ did not help matters either. Cressen was sure Robert’s mocking of his failed attempt to mend an injured hawk was not done out of spite. Even Steffon had seemingly agreed with that estimation. Unfortunately, undermining the boy’s attempt at showing mercy and kindness to wounded animals only hardened him in an unhealthy manner. Robert couldn’t understand his brother any more than the Maester did. The lustful Baratheon's attempts to sneak ‘wanton’ women into Stannis’ bed did nothing to ease the stern lad's grief. In fact it was probably why Stannis did not like ‘bold’ women of any stripe. Cresson guffawed. The bright side of that was at least one Baratheon didn’t have a string of bastards strewn along half the seven kingdoms.

“But you are his friend Maester. Friends help each other. When I’m scared or angry you help, right? Stannis looks like he needs that right now. Please help my brother..Please.” There went the damn puppy eyes again. There was a serious intensity behind them that Cressen both approved of and didn’t like. Not one bit.

“What did you see? What did Stannis say to you?” He found himself growing concerned. Sometimes head injuries caused bad dreams or sudden personality shifts. If the lord of a castle under siege became unbalanced… well bad things would follow.

Renly looked at the graying man and he seemed to truly be frightened. It wasn’t like when he faced punishment for his impertinence earlier. Cressen had only seen that look when Stannis had been particularly cross or when Renly had spoke of the ‘hungry’ looks he received.

“If I tell you, will you promise not to tell my brother?” It was serious then. Seven help them all if Stannis was truly mad.

Cressen placed the boy’s right hand on his own and both over his heart. “By the old gods and the new. Lord Stannis will not have the tale from me. But if he does need help and you held back information it would be a gross neglect of duty to your brother. Isn’t that true my prince?”

The use of his title and his words had an instant effect. Renly’s face grew stern in a way only a boy trying too hard to be a man could pull off.

“Whether great or small, rich or poor all must do their duty before the gods, the king, their liege lords and elders. Everyone must apply themselves to the best of his or her ability!” Renly paused and then finished having said the whole quote in one breath.

Renly's eyes became focused and for a moment Cressen believed he was looking at Stannis or Lord Steffan himself.

“No matter the cost.” Renly’s small voice once again chilled the old man to the bone. Those words may have come from Stannis, but they were Lord Steffon’s first. Cressen didn’t say anything, but would have to do something about that later on.

“When my brother came to talk to me about…the execution he was different. He didn’t know but, I could smell his breath. I know he was sick before he came to my room..” Cressen realized the boy meant Stannis had thrown up. Executing those men was necessary after the last attempt, but stoning? It was a form of brutal spectacle not seen since the Dunksdale Defiance. He had recommended a less barbaric death. Stannis had convinced him otherwise, but did his son feel remorse or disgust to that extent? Physical illness over a logical decision once made did not sound like the Stannis he raised.

“And his eyes, they were puffy. He made me feel better, but I could see that he’d been crying. He said he’d been cutting onions to make some kind of treat for me, but I’m little not stupid.” Crying was not Stannis at all; let alone in anticipation of executing or remembrance of slaying men who did treason while trying to kill him. Something was wrong! He went to get his good shoes, walking stick and a collection of herbs. He had moved so quickly that Renly’s jaw had dropped.

The chained man turned to see the little boy staring at him with shock. Cresson’s voice changed and he became calm in order to sooth the boys growing anxiety.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention so quickly Prince Renly. You have performed your duty with the honor of true Baratheon. I will handle things from here.” He hugged the small child, who for all intents and purposes was his son. Then he escorted him back to his room. Thinking on his feet he assigned a servant to make certain he stayed there. Considering again that he was dealing with a Baratheon he took some herbs, measured a small packet and gave the servant instructions before ensuring the boy that he would have pleasant dreams. Cressen did not want the boy to overhear what he would need to do, and Cressen himself wasn’t even sure what he needed to do.

When that had been completed he made his way to ‘his favorite’ child’s room. When he wasn’t there the Maester shook his grey head. Then he turned to Prince Stannis’ favorite hiding place when he was younger. Depressed lords of took to drink or other folly. Maester Cresson could do nothing for Lord Steffon in his greatest hour of need. He couldn't keep Robert from his poor choices either. But he would be damned to each of the seven hells before he watched that stubborn fool destroy himself in front of him and his youngest brother.

That last failure wouldn’t just kill his body but break his soul!  



	6. Xendo I - Eddard II

Justice should remove the bandage  
From her eyes long enough  
To distinguish between  
the vicious and the unfortunate  
Robert Green Ingersoll

Ruminations from Shadow part 1

Xendo Toh  
Sun Spear, Dorne  
Seventh Month of 283 AC

For Xendo Toh this was the most hectic month of his life since he was forced from Red Flower Vale, his adopted home. Specifically, he was exiled as a result of the strange ritual the land of Alkebulan called warfare. The so called ‘Summer Islanders’ that made up half of his ancestry made war into something that more resembled the blood sport he grew up forced to compete in back in Mereen.

It shamed him for many nights after their exile that Xendo could not repay Prince Jhalabar Xho for his freedom with victory. Yes, the man had likely freed him from the Mereenese fighting pit because he needed a champion and Xendo conveniently was the son of a Naathi woman and a Walano gladiator. Such a thing qualified him to represent Xho, though Xendo’s father had never set foot on Alkebulon’s third largest island in is his life and had only 4 words of Balawi. He was under no false compunction that Xho’s actions were done out of pure altruism.

However, there was no one forcing Jhalabar to treat him with respect, dignity and friendship. In truth Jhalabar had sacrificed a kill shot against his opponent to save his life that day. Xendo wasn’t even forced to stay with Xho, as his skill with bow, sword and spear would earn him good coin in almost any ‘free company’ in Essos. Yet Xendo had made Jhalabar his prince and so he stood with him and all his loyal subjects. They bid farewell to all they had known rather than bow before usurpers. Since then all they seemed to know was ever decreasing numbers due to disease, death and desertion. Xho left with four swan ships full of warriors and loyalists a scant 5 years ago and now only 2 ships, some odd 48 ‘true’ warriors and a perhaps a 80 sundry sailors and artisans remained.

Xendo could see how it pained his lord to beg for aid from strange rulers; many of whom only barely hid their scorn and derision beneath false courtesy. Each time he was rejected Xho would leave behind a part of the joyful and vibrant man he was before Jhalabar's so called brother and various kin joined forces to oust him from his seat. Toh was honestly afraid that sooner or later Jhalabar would snap and either walk over the edge of his ship or turn into mercenary/ pirate like so many other exiles did. From there it was a small step to becoming slaver scum like the men Xendo was rescued from.

Fortunately for everyone involved they had come to a place called Storm’s End seeking to make common cause with ‘others fighting evil kin’ as his rightful lord said. Xendo assumed that his lord would fight for coin and promises as this Robert seemed the kind to reward good service. Surprisingly, Lord Stannis had requested their presence out of all the various sell swords offering their services. Their priestess had said it was the mark of destiny. Little did Toh know how right she was. Xendo could remember what was said while standing in the gaunt white man’s solar as though it were yesterday.

Earlier in the month

Stannis spoke simply. “Tell me in terms of trade value and potential resource allocation what the break even point of invasion costs would be in standard years based on the equinox.”

Jhalabar was stunned. And when he could not answer the tall white man raised an eyebrow that Xendo had seen before. Xho seemed to deflate and he bowed before he started to turn when the lord continued.

“I don’t believe I gave you leave to depart your grace.” The words were not spoken mockingly but were instead a command of a noble to another noble guest behaving inappropriately.

“If you would quit because you can’t provide a reasonable and logical argument what does that say about your cause? If you notice I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you. I asked you to prove it is worth my effort. Aren’t the lives of my warriors worth that much concern?" The reasonableness of the man's words brought Xho up short.

"If the only reason you can give for someone to support you is noble obliges then I’m sorry to tell you that either you will become a puppet or dead the moment you are no longer useful.” Jhalabar paused and his jaw dropped. However, Stannis looked away from his prince and gazed into his golden eyes and spoke.

“You are part Naathi are you not? How did you come into Prince Jhalabar’s service?” Xhendo took one look at the man and knew that lying would be bad.

“I was a fighting slave in Mereen and Prince Jhalabar freed me so that I might join his retinue and defend his claim against his usurping brothers.”

“So he freed you from the fighting pits only to make you fight?” Stannis’ face was hard to read.

“No my lord. He freed me and gave me a choice. I could wander Mereen or some other place and likely end up either enslaved again or fighting for food and the entertainment of slaver scum. Or I could become his liege man and gain respect, an honorable living and possibly a family of my own. It was an easy choice!” Stannis looked between the two of them for a few minutes before he spoke again.

“You have gotten noes and maybes and disdain because you haven’t proven yourself a sound investment. From what I’ve heard you don’t have a vision of what your leadership is or why it is better than that of your brother. Worse, I fear you haven’t even made a sound plan on how to convince your people to accept your breaking of their cultural regulations of warfare."

"Logically, it sounds like you are asking to become Inkosi rather than simply the prince of one island and that is a large investment. Do you understand the logistics of supplying a force that large across the Summer Sea? I hope you can understand why a king who had to count the funds and food that feed his own people would not rush into something that intensive. I’m speaking the truth because I value reason and logic and so should anyone I choose to associate with. I allocated funds to pay 3 months back wages for your crews as of five hours ago. The writ is on the table to my left and you may take it before you go."

Both of them were still too shocked to speak. To casually hand away that kind of wealth was unbelievable.

"Prince Jhalabar Xho you have a choice. You can choose to be angry at an insult I’ve given you. You can say that I have no knowledge of what I talk about and that your pain and misery are not things than can be filed away and your rule doesn’t have to be justified to anyone. You can simply walk away now and I will still give you three months of back pay for your troops."

"Or you can accept my challenge and work with me, not as a vassal but as valued associate. I don’t promise you an army, but I can offer you stability and a chance to better understand how warfare of the kind you are proposing is carried out by professionals. You might even pick up some more men and resources on your own terms while you are at it, and I will definitely teach you how to manage those. In return you will teach me the methods of your society’s manner of trade, industry and war."

"What say you?”

Now

That was how Xendo and 8 of his best men wound up sitting under the Dornish sun in the Martell's blood Orange orchard listening to a wolf lord argue with the sons of the Sun. It was a strange world at times, but he adjusted the scale armor on his chest and parrot plumed helmet and kept his own counsel.

Toh knew how this would go. The older Dornisman would fume for a while the younger one made veiled and threatening insults. The wolf would internally fume and quietly accept them as the price for help and a safe conduct. To be honest Xendo could not fault either side for their feelings. The frail looking squash faced elder and the more gaunt man with Yi Tish eyes were upset because they would never see their sister again, while the younger one had a chance to reclaim his own.

It was why the wolf said nothing to the provocations of the Dornish around them. The only thing they could do is threaten them with impotent rage, and each side knew it. Even though the Starks were not the ones they wished to truly harm they were the serpent's only target. The one they called the Red Viper took his turn once more.

“Ah it seems that you are allowed to seek your sister by order of the king. Is it not interesting that he sought out and mete justice for her yet the crown denies it to me for mine own?” The voice of Prince Oberyn was scornful for all the flowery language he applied. When Xendo last came here with his own prince to beg aid his sharp tongue wasn’t quite as bad. Then again had Jhalabar or Xendo given insult to Elia or one of his court they likely wouldn’t have escaped without substantially more than a tongue lashing, if they left alive at all. One did not want a Dornishman angry with them, let alone the Red Viper.

“Prince Oberyn, Prince Doran I can not say how greatly the deaths of Princess Elia and her children grieves me. It was dishonorable..” The prince sitting on the dais raised his hand and Eddard stopped speaking. Xendo could see the great difficulty the wolf lord was having keeping himself from reacting to the scorn his entourage had met. Xendo himself had only been lightly touched by it, though it was likely because he was seen as a mercenary. That and he had left a favorable impression on some of the servant women when he was last here.

The black man with his mothers's golden brown eyes subtly nodded at Aliza, a scullery maid he had become 'acquainted' with during Xho’s last attempt at gaining Dornish support last year. She pretended to ignore him but signed underneath the hem of her dress.

“And I suppose your condemnation of rape and murder makes everything all better? Lord Stark said murdering children is dishonorable and we can just go on about our business and justice is met. ” There were guffaws all around. That seemed to cause the veins on Eddard’s neck to stand up and he began to rise. Suddenly the air became a great deal more humid as various knights and warriors reached not so subtly for their weapons.

They had been given guest right and Xendo’s understanding was whoever broke it first would be in the wrong should it come to trial. For a moment he wondered if that had been Prince Doran’s intention as he was always considered the crafty one and the death of Robert’s brother by choice would be a potent revenge. Considering that they were outnumbered considerably and the former gladiator's orders were to keep Stark alive Xendo rose and made his way to calm Lord Stark. However, before he could place a restraining hand on the northern lord, Howland intercepted him and fixed him a look. Trusting someone who likely played his own role more than once; Xendo stopped and rested his hand on his bow. It would only take him three seconds to plant an arrow in the face of anyone here so he didn’t need to join in the threat display.

These Westerosi knights and lords were behaving worse than some novice pit fighters in the coliseum under the great pyramid of Mereen. All they had to do now was grab their genitals and fly the fig. Fortunately, Eddard Stark was far more in control than he let on.

“I can not understand how you feel and I won’t insult you by saying I do. Every relationship with a brother or sister is special in its own way. I loved Brandon in a different way than I love Benjen or Lyanna. I couldn’t say how I would feel if Lyanna had been in Elia’s place. But I do know what it is to lose a brother because a monster perverted justice solely because he had the power to do so and enjoyed inflicting misery on others." Eddard then turned to Oberyn.

"It burns a hole my gut every day knowing that I was to damned far away to do anything about it. Brothers are supposed to look after their siblings and I failed in that. Maybe it is delusion, he was the heir and my duty was to obey but the loss of my father and brother will never stop hurting. Aerys is dead, Rheagar is dead but that doesn’t make the hurt go away. The anger I feel won’t go away until I breath my last."

"All I can do now is try to be a better brother for Lyana and Benjen than I was for Brandon. I will do anything, anything within my power to make sure she is returned home safely. It’s the only thing I know how to do. Tearing each other apart won’t change anything, but it will make more victims of that mad kings evils. Is that what you really want Prince Doran? Is that the legacy you want for your sister?”

It was if a new person took over. Doran raised his hand and almost all of his attendants walked out of sight. The only one who remained was a tall bearded man with a large two handed axe. The obvious Norvosi bearded priest did not speak but Xendo could see his own reflection in his eyes. It was almost as he was seeing the so called onion knight again despite their physical differences. Oh Xendo and the northerners knew there were some archers and others within easy reach, but the gesture was one of respect. As the maid passed out she made another sign he pretended not to notice.

"I know you find the death of women and children sickening. I won’t hold you responsible for the crimes of others.” Oberyn deliberately and slowly walked toward Lord Stark and gave him a scroll. That he personally took the effort to walk with his affliction was a further show of respect, one that Stark understood.

“This is my compliance with our king’s orders. All Dornish sworn to my service will provide you with anything you need, food, water, guides. For what its worth I hope you find Lyanna alive and unharmed. He has better brothers than he deserves.” Who Doran meant by that was obvious and while Stark seem puzzled by his statement, Xendo was not going to be the one to spill that secret. The wolf lord would find out on his own eventually.

“Go in peace Lord Stark.” He and the rest turned to leave, but Doran’s voice cut their motion short.

”One more thing. While you are right and nothing will fill the hole in our hearts, there will be justice. Tell our king that when next you meet him.”

Xendo shuddered at the softly spoken threat. It implied that nothing would stop him when he was ready to take the justice due him, and Stark would be wise to not be in his path. Xendo shook his head once more when the Martel brothers were out of view. 

Things like this would never have happened in the Summer Island. Princes or even high priests who harmed their wives or tortured children would be put to death long before it had come to this. Truly these Westerosi could learn much from his people.

He forgot about such complex and terrible things and sought out the public baths and a flagon of wine. He had somewhere to be shortly before they set sail again, and a more pleasant farewell was in store. He smiled, his white teeth contrasting against his dark skin. Dornish women truly were special indeed.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
Suns and Stars Part 1

Eddard  
5 Leagues from the Vultures Roost, Dorne  
After resupplying at Castle Wyl and sailing to the mouth of the River Wyl  
Eighth Month of 283 AC

The newest Lord Paramount of the north cursed inwardly. He began to seriously doubt Lord Stannis’ plan. If Ned had just listened to his first instinct he might have avoided this situation. Seven ‘poorly armored’ men might not be a strong force, but they could move a good deal faster than this group. Having to carry more water to avoid drying out in this accursed sun was becoming infuriating. Sure they would only need to don armor when expecting a fight, but this part of Dorne was crawling with people itching to spill blood for one cause or another. To make matters worse, almost all of those reasons had not a whit to do with him! From lost relatives and friends on the Black Water, to ancient feuds with the Storm Lands or the insult offered to them by Elia’s unpunished murder he was surrounded by people looking for an excuse to take out their frustrations on the first available target. The list was not a short one and it didn’t exclude the bandits either. And those also included people he needed to ask for help!

The wolf lord stopped cursing his trusting nature and swung Ice in a figure eight pattern. The Valyrian two handed great sword parted the offending brigand in drab gray robes from his two handed spear, and the right arm that was wielding it. An arrow from a short bow bounced off his right side aventail as Ned removed his primary attackers head while covering a wicked diagonal cut from a falchion type short sword.

Ned punched his right gauntlet into the face of his attacker and hoped his ‘support’ would do their job. As the brigands were largely unarmored and rather poorly armed the man wearing the dirty white turban could only howl in pain as the lobstered steel fist broke teeth, jaw and his nose. Ned had to admit there was a serious upside to being the only ones in good armor, despite how much it was like an oven in this heat.

The Dornish archer, who was angling for another shot at him grew a third eye made of wood when the tall black man with golden eyes sent a yard long shaft into his forehead. Xendo and the other Summer Is… no Alkebeloni were positioned in the ring of relaxed horses and picking off enemies at their leisure. It was a maneuver that Stannis had them practice before they left Storm’s End where they used kneeling horses wearing chain mail as additional cover from enemy arrows.

Ned ran the edge of his magic sword along the right side of the would be thief’s neck in a withdrawal draw cut and kicked him over as he clutched at his throat. In the same motion he nodded at Xendo, who put an arrow into the horse of a man who tried to rush his group with a lance. Yes the mounted ones had some mail and scale but alas sand steeds were not made for heavy armor. And even had his mount been armored longbows arrows were not stopped at this distance without a combination of mail and gambeson.

Thus the man in blue wool took a rather nasty stumble as his horse collapsed with an arrow through its throat. An ordinary longbow was death to anyone who wasn’t wearing plate at up to 200 yards. Six of those Summer Islanders were absolute masters of a weapon second only to dragon bone in its range and penetration ability. At less than 50 meters these raiders were committing suicide.

Though Ned had to admit these bandits had courage. Not many would choose to fight a large group of armored knights, even if they had cut their avenue of retreat. None of them broke the charge even as they left men or horses on the ground between their camp and the very deadly men with their equally deadly bows. It was after all their only real avenue of escape. Howland Reed had set up the battlefield with fiendish detail. If any of these scum had information about the 3 white swords none could be afforded to escape. Time was precious and every clue mattered.

The final four somehow made it to 30 meters and one of them managed to land a bowshot to the midsection of the man to golden eye’s right. His golden scale turned the blow, but it did knock the man down while spoiling the aim of the archer to his right. Not that it did him any good as his chest in turn sprouted four shafts that punched through his mail rather easily and exited at least two inches on the other side. The raider slid from his horse as his companions, likely deserters from the host Llewyn led at the Blackwater continued their dash for freedom.

The man to his right leveled his lance at Xondo who lowered his precious bow with not great haste and picked up his own spear. This wasn’t the short Asagie stabbing spear, but the slim elegant one about half again the size of his long arm. With a graceful arc he sent it at the broken man who interposed his shield, only for the deceptive power behind it to unhorse him. As he fell the horse turned and almost trampled him.

Another man’s helmet collapsed inward as a fist sized stone careened off his forehead; courtesy of the seventh man in the group of black men. Slings were not unknown in Westeros but among the Isles of Alkebulon iron was rare and men made war with what they had. This man, Matoga Mo was also a Prince’s champion and thus a master with his own chosen weapon.

The last two would be escapees were dealt with by Howland Reed. Or rather by the pit traps he had placed in front of the black men’s position. Not for the first time did Eddard Stark realize just how valuable the Crannogmen were to the defense of the north. They did not train knights and their method of warfare was just as practical as it was savage. Each of the meter long circles had what were known as Crow’s Feet. Horses that did not break their legs in the fall would find themselves impaled through their hooves even through their iron shoes. Both the curios type of spade used to quickly dig those pits, called a ‘entrenchment tool’, and the five pronged ‘jacks’ were gifts of Lord Stannis. Coincidentally the Storm Lord introduced a game using a smaller and safer version of the small horrors and a leather ball, saying it was a method of improving dexterity.

20 minutes later

That was the last of the combat as the rest of the lot promptly surrendered, netting him about thirteen prisoners with various degrees of wounds. His own losses were negligible. Thanks to the armor and overwhelming force they had dealt with the band of seventy bandits led by ‘Lord Buzzard’ to a man without loosing anyone. Yes four men had bad bruises and there were a few cuts here and there but none were out of the fight or would have to return. Two horses had to be put down, but he could simply replace them with those of the bandits or from the next holdfast he came across.

Stark also recovered eleven peasants and traders, formerly captives. They were mostly young women who were in various stages of shock, anger and gratitude. Eddard's grim face grew wroth when he considered exactly why his native ‘guide’ had suggested this path, but it lightened somewhat when he saw Alon wrap his arms around a woman and girl in the corner. The child had his brown hair and her black eyes, marking them as a family. The girl couldn’t have seen more than 12 years of life, but her face was that of a crone! Ned had seen that look before and he swore under his breath. There would be no convenient reprieve for men capable of such within his reach!

Lord Stark seriously doubted he would find any intelligence leading to his sister here, but he did learn a few valuable lessons. The first he knew already and was that small folk were the ones who suffered the most in the so called game of thrones. The second was that he should probably follow Stannis’s suggestion about relying more on his own scouts and Stannis’ prior research. The man might be more involved in his business than he had right to be but Stannis certainly knew war.


	7. Jon Arryn I

“To sin by silence, when they should protest, makes cowards of men.”  
Ella Wheeler Wilcox

  
Fury and the flame Part I

**Jon Arryn**  
Kings Landing  
Red Keep, Private Audience Room  
Sixth Month of 283 AC 

The giant stag of a man spat a mist of Arbor Red in a two foot plume resembling the flame of the ancient beasts ridden by his fore bearers. Said accomplishment was followed by gasping coughs and finally loud, rambunctious laughter. His tight belly rolled under the ermine doublet bearing the new design of the Royal Crowned Stag.

Despite his former ward’s antagonism towards his middle brother the first message that slipped into Kings Landing from Prince Stannis had too many good ideas for even him to ignore. One of said ideas was the was quite novel sigil. It was the head of a stag with forked lighting for antlers, with a large crown the likes none in Westeros had seen before on its head. It had lighting bolts for eyes and its fierce face breathed a storm cloud beneath it.

Robert took one look at it and instantly fell in love.

After a moment the new king subsided and was able to speak normally. He stared at Prince Renly and Lord Randyl Tarly and shook his head.

“Ok one more time Tarly, what did my brother say then ?” Tarly sighed before continuing.

“Now that more than half of the incompetence in Westeros is off to bed without dinner we can get some work done.” Robert guffawed again, not as loudly, but still it was obvious he was in one of “his moods”. By that the old falcon meant more than tipsy and prone to sudden outbursts of joy, lechery or violence.

The king's moods had become a bit more stable and leaning towards mirth after the most recent events in Kings Landing, However, they could just as easily revert to dangerous bellicosity. The row between himself and his adopted brother was fairly serious and a few letters, no matter how heart felt wouldn’t truly change them so soon.

Renly joined in the laughter meekly. Jon allowed himself two guffaws, as Tarly’s delivery was pretty good. Though honestly the joke stopped being funny around the fourth time Robert asked him to relate the story and it was now the twelfth. The little prince didn’t show it but the boy was very uncomfortable around his eldest brother. Jon couldn’t understand his feelings even though Robert could be obnoxious at times. From what the falcon understood sudden violence should not have been surprising to a lad who suffered almost a year of siege. If his sources were accurate Stannis had stoned a man to death in front of him before stabbing him to death.

After a few seconds Renly stopped. Even Tarly, who wasn’t all that enamored of his Lord Paramont was growing impatient with Robert’s mocking and Robert stopped when he heard Jon’ hrumph.

“Yes indeed it was interesting tale of what the Prince has been up to recently. However, your grace I feel it is unwise to offer insult to a Lord Paramount in such a manner.”

“Oh relax Jon. I was just having some fun. Don’t act like you have never mocked Lord Fat Flower in your cups or around the table," sadi the large stag with a wagging finger. Acknowledging his former ward's truthful words the lord of the Vale sighed.

“I meant your brother holding him hostage. I can understand why Prince Stannis did so and I even appreciate how he worded the exchange. It was very diplomatic, but yet and still this will cause problems with the Reach. Lady Olena..” Robert cut him off with a wave.

“Lady Olena should be happy that Stannis didn’t charge them more! In fact she should rejoice that Stannis is training the man to be something useful. Hell, we all know Mace could use a diet and bit of exercise!” At that Tarly and the Kingsgaurd on duty both snickered with genuine laughter. Which was the wrong thing to do as Robert’s good humor fled and he fixed the man in white a hard look.

Said white sword, one Ser Jaime Lannister, quickly shut up and stood at attention. His swollen left eye and still healing lips a testament to Baratheon rage. Though honestly Jon couldn't say he was all to broken up about the Lannister's treatment. The man really was an arrogant arse and if the moniker ‘golden fool’ applied to anyone it surely was created for him.

John interrupted before things could escalate further. The last thing their fraying coalition needed was a murder. Especially as Jon was unsure as to which one of them would die. Robert was still recovering from wounds taken at the Trident and the golden idiot was still death with a sword. Said blonde had also already earned the name king slayer once before.

“All good points my king. However, due to the leal service the Reach has provided your house and the realm it would only be right to end the unseemly perceived display of Stannis' lack of faith in Tyrell honor. I am sure that Stannis intended no insult with his prudent moves, but the necessity of such has passed.” Fortunately, Lord Tarley backed him up.

“While I do agree my Lord Mace could stand to ‘toughen up’ his second fostering does have the potential to be seen as an insult. I’m sure that Lord Stannis would agree his actions are counterproductive." Aryn nodded in support of Randyl's words.

"Perhaps his wound is still troubling him..” Robert’s face grew harder and the Lord of Horn Hill wisely stopped speaking.. Tarley should not have mentioned Stannis’s sudden change in personality and increasing political savvy. A year ago Stannis would not have bothered disguising an excuse to punish someone. Even more as his letters already mentioned plans to deal with Lady Olenna, Jon could only assume he planned to squeeze a marriage out of the Flower Lord as well.

Renly cut Robert off to everyone’s surprise. The falcon didn’t really know Renly, only that the boy had been somewhat close to Stannis. It did make sense as he was the one who spent the most time with him after their parent’s died.

“You better not insult my brother. I’m sure he can put you on a diet too! And he is a Prince. He has a circlet and everthing.” Robert guffawed and rubbed the boy’s head. Jaime had enough sense to keep quiet and the moment passed.

Robert’s voice went back to his normal mode. He took a swig of wine and turned to Tarly.

“You heard the boy, apologize!” Tarley, the gruff soldier, rose to his full height and spoke in a calm voice.

”I’m sorry your grace and my prince. I misspoke. Prince Stannis has made very good plans and his sound judgment has saved many lives. In the future I will be sure to remember that and his titles.” Robert smirked and continued.

“Well then that’s that. And fine. I will write a letter to tell …Prince Stannis to set Lord Flower loose. I’m sure you can find a command away from anything important that won’t be seen as an insult to him or his dear sweet mother." No one wanted her to visit the capital, least of all Jon.

"And this time I’ll let him know it isn’t a suggestion either. Then Stannis better get working on the damn fleet because his little stunt poked the damn beehive. The fucking Dragons are hitting every damn thing that moves on the coast between Gully Town and Parchments.” Jon dared to interrupt. Sometimes it paid to nip Robert’s rants in the butt before they could get started. It all depended on just how much fruit of the vine the king had in him and for Robert this was a light day.

“Begging your pardon your grace, but I think you might overstate their naval power. By your princely brother’s estimates they have but two hundred vessels of various kinds and only perhaps 50 true warships of any note. They don’t have the manpower to threaten any significant landing, run an effective blockade of Kings Landing or fight in pitched battle."

"It might be better to wait until we have enough forces to crush them outright. We control the treasury and now that people know just how mad the king was tis likely no one will choose to face you in combat. Tis even possible they will simply go home or even switch sides before fighting a hopeless battle.” Robert laughed again. This one was not pretty.

“Jon, you know many things and I learned much of warfare from you but you are wrong here. Please explain to him why that is my lord Tarly.” The hard faced Lord of Horn Hill spoke in his deep voice.

“While it is true that in the long run we can starve them out, they are making us look weak. Every day we delay final victory or at least bottling them up is another day someone with a grudge or ambition my decide to enter the war on their side. They will still lose of course but it will bloody the realm even more and create more fueds and dissention."

"We also shouldn’t forget that the Golden Company is still 20,000 strong and always looking for an excuse.” Robert nodded in agreement to Tarly's words.

Robert again spoke. “Let Stannis spend whatever he needs to and play with his sell swords and onion knights; so long get the job done. The man was never a spend thrift so if he says he needs it he’s not hoarding it.” Renly piped up again, imitating Robert with his best boisterous voice as small children were wont to do.

“That’s right brother Stannis would never steal from you brother. He’ll go beat those dragons like he beat the bad men who gave me hungry looks.” That was another story Lord Jon wanted to hear, but he knew it could wait.

“That’s right. Send for a measter I’ll light a fire under his teeth grinding arse. The sooner we get this done the better!” Robert didn’t see the cross look Renly threw his way, but then again Robert was used to not seeing things Robert didn’t like. Knowing when not to waste time arguing a dead cause Jon sought out Grand Maester Pycelle. For some reason ‘Lord’ Varys was making himself a great deal less visable around court.

Of course he honestly didn’t blame the spider one bit. If he had ‘dropped the ball’ as badly in Lord Stannis’ strange phrasing, he would make himself no less scarce. Jon Arryn himself would have resigned, fearing more than a firing from someone like Robert Baratheon. But, then again unlike Varys, he had a wife and keep to go home too.

The hand still shuddered when he remembered that chaotic week and the concept of ‘firing’ Stannis mentioned took on whole new meaning.

A few weeks ago

Jon was ushered into the Guildhall of the Pyromancers in Kings Landing. The lord of the Vale was shocked and numb as Tarly’s personal knights made way for him and the retinue of blue clad warriors flanking him passed by.

That the smell of freshly spilled blood was in the air did not surprise him, as he had known his former charge for most of his young life. Passion, courage, recklessness; those were the things that defined Robert Baratheon to a tee. No it was Aery's last surprise that aged the man almost a dozen years. To find out just how deep the madness that festered in this city went was beyond mind bending.

Just thinking about how he and Lord Stark had come crashing into this city as Lannister Men were in the process of looting it. The fires that were lit were burning without anyone caring about the consequences. Gods how had those damn golden fools been so blind?

Aerys was the man’s best friend for years. How could Tywin not have guessed what appointing a pyromancer hand entailed? They just ransacked the city for hours setting untended fires in flea bottom. Hell, those fires alone might have destroyed the city. When he though about what else lied hidden Jon’s face went pale and he almost threw up.

At first Jon though it an attempted coup cooked up between Tyrell and Stannis. It wouldn’t’ be the first time a younger brother attempted to usurp the throne. To be honest he had been led to believe there was no love lost between the two siblings. But, no one launched a coup with unarmed men. Then he prayed it was a hoax, a story to make the resented older brother jump in front of everyone. Then Tarley’s men brought him the first jar found under the sept of Baelor. Seven Hells! How did they get so many jars there without anyone at all seeing or suspecting? Was everyone in the fucking city drunk?

Those thoughts were brushed aside as they discovered the reason for the blood spore. On the ground ahead lied two moaning men in pyromancer’s garb. If he had to guess they were the security personnel for the higher wisdom’s areas. They each had at least four broken bones. The door ahead was open and without damage but to his surprise there was the sound of argument ahead.

Jaime Lannister was speaking.“Your grace this is not productive. We should take them to the lord justice for questioning. He would do a much better job.”

“The man can’t bloody speak you nitwit. How the fuck’s he gonna get answers if he can’t ask a fucking question. We don’t have the time anyway. I don’t believe you fucking kept your goddamn mouth shut. I outa ring your goddamn neck too!” He could hear the bellowing of his adopted son, but not the response.

He did however hear the meaty smacks and saw a golden haired body in white plate slam into the wall in front of him. Gold cloaks were afraid to interfere, but wildfire or no murdering Ser Jaime would mean war with Tywin. So he had his men carry the unconscious KingsGaurd to safety.

Fortunately Robert had pulled his punches, whether out of concern for Lord Tywin’s wrath, his brother’s written council or common sense Jon could not say. Though it wasn’t really important as Robert was focused on the three wisdoms in front of him.

”Eeny meeny miny mo," said Robert and then he grabbed a greybeard by the neck and raised his war hammer.

“Put your fucking hand on the table BASTARD!” When the man didn’t respond likely because he was so scared he pissed himself the hammer came down on his foot. Even though it was a one handed swing Robert was a master of weapon whose head weighed close to ten pounds.

The results were gory and caused the man to fall to the floor in pain.

“I was going to be fair and ask the question first. Give him a chance to save himself, but he decided to disobey his KING!” He stared at the other two. The sound of the crying man clutching his mangled and bleeding left foot was gut wrenching.

“Shut up or I will give you something to cry about!” When he understandably did not stop wailing Robert’s hammer was pulled back in an underhand swing and before Jon could say something the crying man’s head was parted from his shoulders at the neck.

His blood gushed over the other two as his heart emptied the corpse with its last beats. The gold cloaks fell back and two of them were sick. The older of the two pyromancers collapsed on the ground. The younger, who was about ten years older than Robert threw up when his friends brains rebounded off the wall from the impact the head made.

“Now I will ask one time before I get angry. How much of that green piss did you make? Where the fuck is the rest of it? I mean every goddamn jar. I know you have fucking records!” Aryn's foster son pointed the bloodied hammer, Donald Noye’s greatest masterwork, at the older one.

That was when the Old Falcon interrupted. He spoke in a stern voice but kept well outside the range of the hammer and Robert's long sinewy arms.

“King Robert what is the meaning of this madness?! Stannis said we should question them without killing them. The ones in charge of the Wildfyre plot are dead, Jaime killed them after the sack. The rest of them likely don’t know anything more than how much was made. Finding out where the hidden stuff is can be done with dogs and back tracking their records.” Robert had blood splatter on his face and the same look of pure hate Jon suspected he wore on the field at the Trident. It changed somewhat when he gazed at his second father.

Jon was glad he could see confusion and shame in those black eyes. It meant Rober wasn’t that far gone into his rage.

“I don’t care what Stannis says. He doesn’t know every fucking thing and I’m the fucking King! There is no good use for wildfire or for these shyte stains. I should just take care of the lot now.” Robert griped his hammer more comfortably and they started to quiver. While part of him agreed, these men at least deserved a trial before execution. More importantly they needed to know just how much of the damn green evil was hidden in the city.

“These are the older ones and they were all here during Aerys’ little barbeque plans. They know something and they are going to tell. Me. Everything. Or. I. Crack. Every. Bone. In. Their. Fucking. Bodies.” His strong arms grabbed the one in front of him by the neck and lifted.

“I’m sure he will agree to talk if you don’t choke him to death first," Jon said matter of factly. The hand was dangling the proverbial rope his son by choice let him. Playing on the fears of men wasn’t exactly honorable but when thousands of lives were at stake… These men could have come forward after the sack, hell they could have come forward during the sack and it might not have gone so badly for the residents of Kings Landing.

Tywin Lannister might be full of spite and a desire for revenge against the Targaryens that eclipsed Roberts. However, he had walked into Kings Landing like everyone else and he did not want to burn.

“What your most wise hand said is true. If you would release good wisdom Runciter he will provide you with every assistance he can.” Robert let the man who was grabbing his sleeve go.

“Fair enough. My hand here has a map of the city. Point out where each cache is and give me someone who can keep the fucking coward’s piss from going off.” When the man foolishly sought to correct the king on the proper name of wildfire he grabbed his left hand and broke it at the wrist.

“Robert! How is he going to write down details with a broken hand?” Robert smiled at Jon with a bit of brain dripping from his left ear.

“He is right handed Jon, notice where the calluses are. I occasionally do pay attention when you teach lessons you know. Now we have a city to save, AGAIN!”


	8. Stannis III/ Davos II

All the great things are simple, and many can be expressed in a single word:   
freedom, justice, honor, duty, mercy, hope.  
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

  
**Stannis**  
Storms End  
Day of Feast of Celebration, Entry of the liberators   
Fifth Month of 283AC

Dying is easy, entertainment is hard or so it goes. As the people chanted the hook to Imagine Dragon’s Thunder I broke out my naval saber sword drill. The difference between dancing and fighting katas are largely semantics once one reaches a certain level of mastery. And as I had been using the saber since I was out of my early teens, it wasn’t fair to call me anything other than that, even though one never stops learning new things.

As I unsheathed my sword and began flowing cuts to the rhythm I felt alive in a way that I hadn’t in quite some time. A month of living in fear of starvation or mutiny will do quite the number on one’s mental health. My body wasn’t quite where I wanted it to be even after a few days of proper nutrition, but Baratheon dna bullshit let me put on this show. My troops needed it and to be honest so did I.

My imaginary opponent did a cut to my left knee and I spun in reverse, picking the phantom blade off with my off hand scabbard. Then I did a snap kick that would have broken his knee, while bringing the pommel guard of my imitation 1920 Naval sword on his head. The spin kick wasn’t technically HEMA and properly could be sourced to Al Matrag, a North African martial art which uses a similar weapon. However as I wasn’t the only person of color in the Brownsville HEMA association we added saber arts from other cultures to make things a bit interesting for us. I should also add that most sword arts liberally borrowed from their neighbors all the time and with the amount of contact between soldiers in the pre gun powder age it is really impossible to say that one wouldn’t find similar moves in ‘authentic’ manuals from either tradition.

Of course that wasn’t what I was feeling at the time. Instead I was transported back in time and across dimensions.

  
Some 20 something years ago

  
“No, pick up your foot and place it here. When the opponent attacks your midsection or head in this way you have only two choices. Which are?” The older Korean man, whose face looked no less than fifty six despite his fit physique, pointed at me after he finished speaking.

“I can divert the attack and an angle then use my punch dagger. Or maybe attempt a rising diagonal cut up his chest using his momentum and gravity against him?” I was younger, maybe 19 and I was home on break from Mount Vernon University. I thought I was hot shit still, poor sucker I was.

“Would you care to show me?” he asked. Thinking I was going to impress Maestro Kim Hwasong and maybe earn my next rank a bit early I eagerly rose. All can say is thank the lord for training gear.

Maestro Kim went into the described attack sequence and based on what I had seen him do earlier I opted to use a rising diagonal slash. The beauty of a curved sword was its ability to cut the enemy deep enough to incapacitate or kill via gravity alone if you had the right position. So in theory an off balance opponent coming forward was an ideal target for a forward slash and step around maneuver.

Of course maestro Kim wasn’t going to cooperate. He was off balance and going forward all right. Yes, he was going forward and he used his off hand, said hand that had dropped his scabbard, to grab me by the shirt collar. At the same time said move threw off my aim, he pulled me into not so friendly knee to my stomach. The next thing I knew his leg had swept my back foot and I was on the floor with my own sword at my throat.

His point was made, as I realized the proper disarm would have seen my groin protector tested instead of the pad cushioning my chest and belly. Once I caught my breath and got up with KIm's assistance I retook my seat. The class of 12 others was stunned, not because of the violence, but because that move wasn’t “codified” within the manuals.

“So what did we learn?” the teacher asked. One of my friends, Sandra Ortega rose her hand. She was a bit older than me and about to finish a pediatric science degree at Baruch. It really was strange group, us sword nerds.

”Maestro, we learned once again that we are supposed to be practicing like people who need to defend their lives not win a sports competition. Real soldiers and nobles didn’t live by manuals and used what they picked up from others.”

“That is correct Sandra, but not the entire answer.” I looked around and no one else was going to say anything so I rose my hand, despite the pain it caused my ribs. Maestro didn’t really hold back all that much.

“Maestro we should not assume that the other person has read or adheres to the manuals or any pre conceived system of fighting even though we may use the same weapon. There are over 30 saber like weapons between England and Shanghai." 

I made the mistake of thinking that you would fight like a 19th century British or German European naval officer. That is why I didn’t think about defending against a grapple or knee.

I continued my post defeat analysis. "You used a combination of the Sicilian School and what I’m guessing were South East Asian infighting techniques.” The ‘Sicilian School’ was somewhat of a slur to say dirty tricks as Italian Styles were frankly known for them. Though to be fair so were the German sword schools, but as back then everyone liked picking on Italy it stuck.

“A much closer answer. Though we really shouldn’t stereotype our Italian Maestros in such a manner," Kim said with a smile and knowing wink. Everyone laughed.

“The truth is there is really no such thing as HEMA, or HAMA or HEAMA. Yes there are flavors in eastern saber fighting that incorporate kicks or even acrobatics but you would be surprised how many Russian, Italian or Spanish drills look like North African, Middle Eastern or Asian ones. There are only so many stances one can use and frankly many people get too caught up in differences.” Which to a degree was true. Sword manuals using the long sword and katana show how similar they can be.

“Its fine to appreciate how each form and variation make a sword style unique, but we should never forget the two most important things about using the saber. Which are?” Everyone answered together.

“Having fun and winning!”

I spent the next four months going over that painful lesson. When we met the next time I used the maneuver I demonstrated for Storms End. I still got my ass owned by the man who was handling swords when I was changing my diapers, but I looked a lot better.

  
Now

  
I came back to myself hearing increased chants as the hook continued. People must really have been enjoying the show to keep the song going that long. That or they didn’t want to piss of the man known for stoning fuckers who got on his nerves.

The body of Stannis was in many ways superior to a man who only held a sword for fun. For instance he was drilling since he was 8 years old, but he also was a lot less limber from the waist down. Yes, the long and great sword kept the near universal need for holding K-form like stances. What I meant was that the long sword did not really require kicks to the waist or head.

Since I liked the whole Assassin’s Creed bit my original body could do spin kicks to the head. Yeah that was a bitch and a half to learn but being able to follow the R Kelly snake sword dance was totally worth it!

In this case two months of stretching and a few days of eating well were not letting me do jump kicks. Sorry even magic dna had limits, but I could still manage spin moves and Stannis actually had good rhythm. He had a fairly decent voice too. Why didn’t he dance and sing before this, I knew plenty of folks who would have killed for half that talent. Immediate my inner Stan piped up. ‘You know why! Its undignified and beneath a lord. Performing for the commons is for mummers!’. Yeah it totally had nothing to do with being a sourpuss with a martyrdom complex. I ignored the hrump from head Stan and transitioned from a lunge into a flurry of blows. The rage I felt at my current existence always bled off when I practiced my favorite weapon. It really was one of the things keeping me sane.

But all good things must come to an end and I could feel exhaustion approaching. So as the fury left me I found myself stopping and dropping into a split, my sword and scabbard making a Mortal Kombat style half circle above me. ‘Show off!’ my passenger quipped at me as I slid up to my full height and placed my blade back into its scabbard before clipping to my waist and bowing. The applause was genuine as was the shock on Stark, Tyrell and Tarly’s faces on realizing who was putting on this show.

Once I had introduced myself and my new lordly guests I motioned for them to sit down near myself on the dais as it was time to deal with those who had performed their duties with distinction.

I knighted about 32 people including Donald Noye and Lorimer Halfdon. Of course I gave the master at arms position to Ser Harold, though I asked him to shave the beard. He went for the monk’s tonsure, which actually made him look badass like friar tuck. Because, really our master of arms should look one of Robin Hood’s men, not Pumba from the Lion King.

Eventually it was the main event where I had to see if my prep work with the would be onion knight was enough. He didn’t finish tallying his crimes until a few days ago and wow that man got around. Davos had smuggled more boatloads of contraband than Frank Lucas and I believed every word he said, as he had no reason to inflate the numbers.

”And now the man of the hour, the fine gentleman to whom this garrison owes not understanding the taste of human flesh to. The one, the only Davos!” There were a number of cheers among the commons and knights. A few of the knights and lords who came in from outside the siege were a little less enthusiastic to have another upjumped peasant among their ranks. Of course they were smart enough not to say so in earshot of me or anyone who suffered through the siege.

The amount of time I had spent with the man rightly led many to believe I intended him to climb higher. That didn’t suit them well, as anyone that wasn’t inside the siege lines were afraid for their future positions. Namely that since they weren’t considered important enough, or weren’t around they would be forgotten when the rewards were giving out. Not to mention Stannis had a reputation for a long memory of those he did not like and was a prince now.

Davos smiled a somewhat nervous grin. He told me that he would accept the knighting and he would surprise me with the punishment the day of. If I didn’t like it then I could do whatever I chose. I simply nodded. I seriously hoped it wasn’t anything strange, cruel or unusual. Not that I would do it, but I hated embarrassing spectacles and hoped I dropped enough hints for onion man to get a clue. ‘Says the dancing madman who stones people’. Ahh sometimes living with oneself was a lot harder than it seemed. I shrugged and waited for him to climb the stage.

As he came to up to the Dais he was smiling somewhat. He was wearing the dark black leather pants and shirt he entered the castle with. What was different was the way he carried himself, his spirit seemed to war between hope and fear. Yes those elements were present the first time I saw him but there was a degree of resignation and quiet dignity where as before it was mostly restrained nervousness at the core.

________________________________________________

Davos  
Storm's End,  
Entry of the Liberators  
Fifth Month of 283 AC

The Flea Bottom smuggler honestly could not believe the turning of his life. A few years ago Davos was dodging sell swords off the coast of Tyrosh smuggling wine. Now he was about to enter the service of a prince. After his rather energetic display of martial prowess the lord of Storms End began speaking.

“These fine men have fought and bled for a truth that all men and women know. That justice and the law are not meant to be tools that allow madmen and tyrants and those who can’t understand power isn’t a right but a sacred privilege to run roughshod over the weak."

"These men have seen the worst of what mankind can do to each other and have been touched by the horrors of this war. So have thousands, no tens of thousands of people who unlike our liberators have no surnames and thus don’t count in the books of some in power and those false nobles whose names I will never again repeat."

But unlike them and some who live within fancy homes, instead of going along with evil they risked their lives and those of their children to take a stand! A wise man by the name of Frederick Douglass once said ‘Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe!’” There was applause. Stannis raised his hands and then there was silence again.

“Which is why they supported my brother and we are now free. Now it seems time to rejoice but this conflict is still far from over. And even once it is done we must rebuild. We must make a world where justice is not just a word the strong use to mollify the world as they do as they wish. There would be no point in all this suffering for that to be the case. Too many of us have lost limbs, friends, and relatives to keep doing things the way they were done before. Too many of us will bear the scars of this war on our bodies and our souls to let this happen again in 20 or 50 years!” There was more applause but it was confused and people began murmuring as to what Stannis intended.

“Which is why I and these fine men will work with our king to build a better world for everyone. One where men and women can feel safe to work and provide for their families. For this is the ultimate test of any government anywhere."

"To that end we will need men and women of wisdom, courage and good will to give their utmost in its service. Let us celebrate these fine men before us and introduce the latest servants of our realm!” There was more applause and the names of the soon to be knights and promoted lords were called.

Davos for a minute believed that Stannis had forgotten about him, but the formerly stone faced prince looked at the man and winked. Stannis stared at him when he didn’t respond, but smiled when he acknowledged his look with a bow of the head.

When Davos was called up he remembered the rehearsal. Head held high without any shame but without undue gloating. ‘Confidence without arrogance or spite, that is the mark of leadership Davos’. He remembered during a rare moment of sword practice towards the end of the siege.

“So Davos of Flea Bottom have you reached a decision?” Davos looked at Stannis and he thought about everything that he had faced up till that moment. That list included cannibal clans in the Ice River of the north to crooked Gold Cloaks that were worse than murderers. The onion smuggler stared at the black haired blue eyed giant and he felt himself both empowered and shriven by his glare. This man was more dangerous than all of them combined and yet he meant Davos nothing but good. Yet and still his punishment would be one that Davos would likely not enjoy, for he had to appease the law and the lords before them both. Davos had felt their jealous and judgmental eyes on him even when his head was turned.

“Aye my Prince Stannis. I Davos of Flea Bottom have been a smuggler for fifteen years by my count. I’ve never hurt anyone who didna come to hurt me or mine, and all I’ve done was done to put food and clothes on me..my children’s backs."

"Of course that’s not rel..relevant to this case. I broke the kings law and I took coin from his purse by not paying his tax. Thanks to the gr..raciousness of Prince Stannis in loaning me his Maester I can count the amount I stole. To the best of my knowledge I de..defrauded the king’s purse 2423 dragons in tax." There were some gasps in the crowd despite the fact said sum wasn't truly all that great and most of that sum had never seen Davos' pocket. Stannis made him take responsibility for the smuggled goods themselves, not the percentage of profit he took.

"That money could have been spent in improving the kings roads, protecting travelers or in keeping the seas safe for honest traders. My actions hurt people who were as poor as myself and my needs do not excuse harming innocent people. I humbly await the punishment for said crime.” There it was done. Now he would see what happened next.

There were various calls from the crowd. Some were ‘here heres’ others were pleadings for leniency. Primarily the latter came from people who lived during the siege and were spared from cannibalism, while the former came from the lords and those who were outside the walls until Stark arrived.

The prince began again in a solemn voice. “It is good that you can admit what you have done Davos. It is even better you can understand why it was a crime. As we discussed earlier what do you suggest your punishment should be?”

The murmurings of the crowd were more insistent. Some said take a finger joint for every year. Others wanted to let the man go free. Some even called for him to receive a lordship! Stannis let them continue a moment and then rose his hand for order. The people quieted just as quickly.

“Now while we of Storm’s End appreciate your help and you will be rewarded for your bravery and cunning I can’t allow your previous smuggling to go unpunished. A good act does not wash out the bad, nor a bad act the good. Each should have its own reward. You were a hero and a smuggler!” A few people laughed at that including Lord Mace Tyrell. Stannis gave the man a hard look and he covered his mouth.

“I suggest you carry out the common sentence. You should take the fingers of me off hand. I can still serve you with my good sword arm. If’n you feel that isn’t enough I have seen some people walk with no toes and no man really needs his lobes to actually hear.” Then there was laughter. It started from a small voice and everyone turned to silence said child before he and his parents pissed off the dangerous man.

It turned out to be little Renly. He was looking at Maester Cressen and Ser Harold. The knight opened his purse and pulled out a small bag of coins and placed it in the Maester’s hand. That wasn’t the biggest surprise because Prince Stannis was laughing as well. Davos though, kept his mouth shut. No one knew what in the hells Stannis would do next.

“Don’t forget to buy Prince Renly a snack in the capitol," the older prince said.

“That’s two snacks Prince Stannis. He promised and a knight must keep his promises,” replied the younger prince.

“Yes that is true. As for you onion smuggler, I must commend your courage. I take it you have that cleaver on your hip to see justice done?”

The smuggler nodded his head. Davos had sharpened the blade himself this morning after praying on the matter. He wouldn’t be able to walk for at least a week but his sons wouldn’t have to live his life.

“Aye my Prince.” Stannis cut him off with a raised hand.

“And I take it you will accept me cutting off your bits with the proviso I both honor my pledge to make you a landed knight and do the slicing myself?” Davos’ jaw dropped. Had the man been spying on him or could he read through men that easily. He immediately wrote off the former. Stannis wasn’t the type to violate a man’s privacy for no reason.

“Yyy yes my Prince. I hoped you would reconsider cutting off my bits if you had to personally harm someone who helped you and your brother.” There was no point in lying to Stannis and he seemed to respect honesty.

“You should know that I hear King Aerys had a thing for making mutes.” Everyone took a breath at that. The mad king had taken tongue’s, eyes and other more intimate parts from enemies, both real and imagined.

“Of course I’m not the damn Mad King so don’t faint on me. Davos did you even listen to a word of what I told you earlier? Did you really think I would maim you in front of your children then ask you to join my service? I appreciate the fact you were smart enough to play to my sympathy and love for my brother but really? Either I maim you to the point where you cant work for months when there is a war still raging or let you go scott free?” Davos realized he had grossly misjudged Stannis and went to apologize. His prince's hand rose again for silence.

“Don’t. You made a play and it backfired. It wasn’t the worst idea but when I’m done with you it won’t be a mistake you’ll make twice. I’m not making a cripple for a knight It’s fucking stupid.” Then Stannis paused and paced a few steps.

“So what will I do then? I can’t let you go unpunished or the people will not respect the law if they figure they can give me a portion of the proceeds of the crime."

"Ah I know! Davos, you will pay the money back from the wages you earn in my service. This will include a fine with a payable but uncomfortable interest rate! After all maiming you doesn’t give the king back his money.” Before he could finish or change his mind Davos again jumped the gun.

“My prince you are kind and generous. I will work every day from dawn..” Again prince rose his hand.

“Davos I said I appreciate wisdom and part of that is not interrupting me while trying to avoid the rest of your punishment.” There was some laughter then. People were starting to sense the new Stannis’ moods.

“As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, You will pay back this sum in what should take you no more than 6 years. I estimate when done within this frame the king will receive 3500 dragons or stags or whatever my kingly brother wants to call them now. Ha ha ha.” The people laughed to accommodate the prince. Then he rose his hand again and they stopped.

“And no I’m not done. Now you may bring it Prince Renly.” The little boy walked out from the dais and pulled along a bucket and basin on wooden wheels. There were a two leather pouches and a bar of soap near the basin. The boy went back and got another two buckets and a couple towels near by.

Stanis reached into the first pouch and pulled out a lead figure shaped like an anchor. It was attached to a chain.

“This weight has the number 2423 on it. It also has today’s date inscribed. I trust the symbolism is obvious." Yes, Davos and the crowd understood the symbolism.

"And no we are not done. As I pointed out people are fond of chopping things off other people in our country. Which means you have to lose something you value, but something I don’t need you to have to serve me."

"I think your pride and arrogance will do. I don’t mean your self respect or dignity, but the kind of arrogance that led you to make an all or nothing gambit with someone who told you they weren’t going to cripple you. Unless you think not having toes or ears was going to make you a better envoy. Can you imagine going before a ruler of some other country or a lord with no ears and walking like a duck?” There was more laughter and a few people started whispering.

“I mean no offense to people without limbs, especially people who lost them in my service like Ser Noye. However, this way of thinking needs more thought. No, you will lose you hair. All of it. You will stay bald on you head and face save your eye lashes until you repay this debt.” Davos was shocked. The Prince wanted him shaved. He actually brought a bucket to shave him in public. Is that why he demanded that Davos shower before he came here. Was he going to have him shave his balls too?

“And no I won’t shave your balls and ass crack!” Davos again was stunned. Did the man read minds. The laughter that got was genuine.

“You heard me. Lose the shirt and lets get this part over with.” So he stripped and knelt in front of the basin while Stannis got to work. Renly handed him the razor and wiped Davos’ head while Stannis shaved his head, face, back and chest.

When Stannis finished Davos looked at him and smiled. Then he spoke once more.

“Ifn It wont piss you off with another arrogant question; will ye be circumcising me next?” Davos had the man more or less pegged now and felt comfortable with that question. The crowd went wild with laughter.

Stannis face palmed. The bald man grinned.

“No you will be getting tattooed with the Baratheon stag on your chest. The crowd won't be satisfied until they see at least a little blood after all. And no I won’t do that myself because I’m not competent in that kind of artwork.” A sailor from another ship, an Ibbenese came forward and laid out his tools on the basin in front of him.

A pot with spirits was brought forward and they were each rinsed in the spirits. A clean rag was dipped in the pot and wiped on his chest. Davos wasn’t ashamed to say he cursed. Stannis smiled at him.

“Wait till you feel the needle” There were more snickers. Davos did his best over the next 40 minutes to not cry out at he received the mark of the Baratheons in black ink. Once done his chest was bloody but it felt right. It was like he was reborn.

“Kneel!” Stannis said. Davos did so without further words.

“Do you Davos henceforth known as Davos Seaworth solemnly swear to defend the weak, all women and children; obey your lord, king and honor the trust placed upon you by man and gods?”

“Aye Prince Stannis.”

“Do you swear to do no evil onto innocent people, to oppose injustice and evil where you find it, and use common sense to determine the justice of a situation instead of acting rashly?”

“Aye Prince Stannis.” This oath was strange but in a good way.

“Do you promise to do your tasks to the best of your ability but not as a fanatic would, instead using the tools of wisdom ingrained in you by the gods and your life’s experience. Will you do this in every thing you set your mind and body to?”

“Aye Prince Stannis.”

“Do you promise to give good council when asked, and provide it with the intent to increase the fortunes of those who receive it and not primarily your own? Do you promise not to use flattery and deceit in order to curry favor for yourself, friends and family?” Davos took a moment to read into it. Stannis was saying not to be unreasonable in his wants, but allowed for human nature.

“Aye Prince Stannis.”

“Good you are thinking before you answer. Oaths are serious and should be considered well. Will you spend your life striving to improve yourself in all things you do, especially in the ways of being a better human being. Will you acknowledge your flaws when you recognized them and seek to moderate them so they will not hamper your life and the quality of your service?”

“Aye my prince.” That was a good oath. One everyone should strive for.

“Do you promise to fight only when there is no other reasonable or sane recourse. Will you do no more harm than is necessary to achieve the goals of preserving justice, completing your lord’s required strategies or defending your or other’s dignity. Will you fight as intelligently and sensibly as you can to ensure the defeat of the enemy while preserving the lives and well being of yourself and those under your command. Will you treat enemies and allies with as much dignity and respect as the previous oaths and conditions you meet allow?”

“Aye my Prince.” Well that was that. Davos felt the strange sword press down on the skin of his left shoulder. Then his right. Then Stannis smacked him across the face with a leather glove. It wasn’t hard but it stung. There would a be red mark there, especially with how sensitive his shaved face now was.

“Then arise Ser Davos Seaworth knight of Storm’s end and let that be the last blow you receive unanswered.” Stannis smiled at him. Then the guant man leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

“I love you like another brother Ser Davos, but if you upstage my comedy act again I will give your other head a shave,” Stannis said in a firm tone. Davos was good at reading people, but he was unsure if his new lord was joking or not. The fomer smuggler erred on keeping his mouth shut, as he intended to celebrate his new knighthood with his wife Marya this month and the tattoo would cause him enough pain already.


	9. Mace I/Doran I

The probability that we may fail in the struggle ought not to deter us from the support of a cause we believe to be just.

Abraham Lincoln

  
**Mace Tyrell**  
Storms End  
Private Quarters of Mace Tyrell  
Tenth Month of 283 AC

  
The lord of Highgarden's hair was still slightly damp from the ‘shower’ he had taken and Tyrell's muscles were a bit sore after that last bout with the master of arms. As much as the man of ever decreasing central girth lambasted the not so stone faced bastard, Stannis knew how to train warriors. The middle Baratheon's courtesies involving noble guests could use some work, as his insistence on smell tests and showers could possibly be construed as insulting. The man was always a bit strange, but that blow to the head really changed Robert’s second oldest sibling. The prince had gone from stern and humorless to a rigid taskmaster, a more joyful and friendly one, but even more ruthless than before.

For instance, Mace was ‘invited’ to join the man’s for lack of a better word, acolytes, on their ‘fitness’ regime. The group included everyone interested from lords, knights, squires and even common man at arms, the bald onion and his turnips included. They practiced ‘push ups’, ‘sit ups’, ‘pull ups’ and some new fangled ‘dum bells’, ‘bar bells’ and weight lifting machines comprised of pulleys and measured lead weights. Then there were the combat lessons including the use of a strange type of sword called an Estoc, which was available in both long and great sword form. While a part of Olenna's eldest son wouldn’t accept a sword that sacrificed cutting power by having a less broad blade, Mace could see its advantages in armored combat. He also more than grudgingly accepted the utility of boxing involving kicks and something called Pancration. As the pounds melted from the great lord's waist and he found he could actually compete, Mace learned it was also quite fun. Damn Stannis for making him enjoy his prison sentence!

What galled him the most, well the second most galling thing, was the seven cursed diet! Week after week Mace had been locked into a set number of ‘balanced’ meals and juice or water! Water and juice, but no beer or wine! Yes said meals had been tasty and apparently shown more of his ‘host’s’ unique and previously unknown skills. However, no amount of spice cakes, or 'doughnuts', or even ‘Buffalo Wings’ could make up for the insult of being rationed, rationed like a misbehaved child. And the man had the audacity to do so with food Mace himself had brought! What was worst of all was how the damn prick ignored him! In the weeks Mace had been present, he saw more of the damn bald onion than he cared for. But not once had Stannis called on him outside 'requesting' Mace order about more troops or supplies via letter. When he surrender himself to what he thought would be a minor humiliation, Mace didn’t foresee the amount of sheer spite the younger Baratheon was capable of. This wasn’t how one treated former enemies, especially as the war was far from won despite what some thought. His musings on Prince Stannis’ inability to relinquish slights, despite being a supposedly smart man, were interrupted by the approach of the Onion Knight.

“Ah my lord Tyrell, I hope you are feeling refreshed. My prince would like a word with you,” Davos said in his usually companionable tone.

“Would that be more money, ships or food Prince Stannis wishes to ‘borrow’ for his brother’s war effort?” The bitterness crept out of the Tyrell lord despite his upbringing and awareness of his situation. Then again what was Stannis going to do him that he wasn’t doing already? The snickers of ‘Stannis put Lord Fat Flower in his pot’ made his blood boil. Since that time Mace had put maximum effort into his exercises with the hope of meeting the ‘Just Stone’ in the training yard to explain how fury wasn’t only his.

“It’s not for those such as me to understand the will o my betters.” The not so corpulent lord noted the bald man’s diction had improved. Though he noted Davos still made use of too many contractions. Of course, Mace was waiting for the shorn man to add his but.

“If I were a betting man, I’d say the prince wants to have a long talk with ye. That kind of talk can go two ways. One way leaves you no worse off than you are right now. The other well.. You know how generous my prince can be to those that are willing to work with him.” The fingers on Davos' left hand caressed the lead anchor around his neck, almost like it was a holy symbol. Mace bit back the retort that would put the up-jumped smuggler in his place while reminding him that reach supplies were funding his new lifestyle. Doing so would be rude and if the rumors of how much Stannis valued Ser Seaworth and kin were true, likely to land the lord of the reach in a far less comfortable cell. Instead, Mace put on his best false smile and courteous voice.

“Well then, I certainly can’t wait to help. Lead on brave Ser.” Mace figured that his mother had finally managed to put enough pressure on the ‘king’ to affect his ‘rescue’. Mayhaps he might even get a chance to earn some glory and a new position in court. Randyl Tarly was being acclaimed as Tarley the Torchbane and the last thing his family needed was to be further eclipsed by their bannermen. Not every Lord Paramount was as secure in their seat as the Starks, Arryns or Baratheons!

Some of them literally held onto their power by charisma, proper marriage making and exploiting the system of noble courtesies his host seemed to scoff at when no one was looking. His brother Robert was just as bad, but at least Robert made people think he believed in the system as something other than a tool of power and social control. Mace had hoped that Stannis would be reasonable and use his presence at his castle for some networking instead of the petty if somewhat enjoyable games. But alas, it seemed that head blow or not Stannis was just as petty and spiteful as before.

  
Forty minutes later

  
Mace found the lanky but powerfully built man where rumors held he spent most of his time; when he wasn’t training, teaching his younger brother/acolytes, or supervising the war effort. Yes, Stannis was in his solar wearing a simple leather doublet with the stag sigil and black and gold house colors; leaned over his desk. In his hand was the strange metal contraption he called a pen. Oh, some painters preferred to write with a brush, and some had heard of cut reeds but Mace couldn’t fathom the need for a metal ‘nib’ made of gold. The lord of the Reach shook his head as Stannis pretended to just now notice his entrance. If Stannis required him to play along for another few days, Mace wouldn’t mind. Seven willing he would never spend so much time with the hateful queer lord again.

“My prince, you summoned me. How may I be of assistance?” Likely he wanted to dispatch another group of Reach riders to go chasing broken men or remind the clans in the Vale who was truly in charge of the Seven Kingdoms.

“First you can speak without your flowery language for once in your life my good man. I know you don’t particularly like your situation or me. Hahaha.” Stannis placed his hand on his chest in light of his jest, one that only he found funny. Prince Baratheon's demeanor was closer to what men described of his elder brother in private. Of course he was actually fouler mouthed than Robert yet still intellectual, if such a thing were possible. Erring on the side of boldness Mace breathed in and let loose.

“Stannis I must say that you have treated me unjustly! First you make me a prisoner even after you gave me guest rite. Then you subject me to humiliation and deprivation. Small folk up jumped and otherwise speak of my name with ill grace and you allow it, nay you even encourage it.” Slowly Mace took a breath to calm himself, lest he talk his head off his shoulders. Then having gained more control over his tone the Reach lord continued.

“I know my siege caused you and your brother suffering, but that is the nature of war. Holding a grudge like this… Tis wrong and unbecoming the noble name of your ancestors.. and unmanly!” Mace caught himself before he could say more, but he feared that he already said too much. Stannis’s face lost all mirth and he stood up straight. Mace could see that his frame had regained a good amount of muscle, for as like with the siege Stannis shared the new training of his men. Some would consider offering an apology as this was the fucker who stoned a man to death. However, Mace wasn’t sorry and the Just Stone had just asked for the truth.

“You know, some people would say that calling Just Stone unmanly to his face when alone with him is about as smart as Brandon Stark’s stunt in the capitol.” Stannis' black eyes bore into Mace’s without a hint of amusement. Mace found his courage burning brighter than before despite the threat.

“Some would say only a madman would kill over petty insult and that Just Stone swears the Baratheon dynasty would forever stand for something greater.” The contest continued for another few seconds, black eyes peering into his green ones searching for something. The taller man must have found something he liked for a sly smile creeped across his face and he chuckled.

”Well spoken sir! There are few things I dislike more than lickspittles and cravens.” It was a sentiment Mace agreed with, though he’d be damned if he acknowledged the touché.

“What do you think I’ve been doing with you sir? Do you really think I kept you here as a hostage or that this is a form of punishment and torture?” Likely the man thought of Mace as another ‘improvement’ project. His friend, Paxter Redwyne, had said as much.

“I could say my time could better be spent proving my worth to your kingly brother’s cause.” Yes, Mace was in the best shape of his later life, but there was no way he’d thank the man for the abuse.

“You mean swinging swords at mercenaries and risking your precious noble hide so you could impress your lords?” said Stannis with mirth. Scarcely had the words left his lips than Mace gave out an exasperated sigh. How could a man so smart be so dense?

“Men call me fat flower, and my lords whisper about me in their cups. I can’t afford such and you know it!” The Florents and Hightowers would pounce on any weakness and his capture presented such a social cue. How could Stannis not see it? At first he thought it was a hidden threat, along with giving so much glory to the Lord of Horn Hill. Then Mace came to suspect Stannis was grooming him for something big, maybe even a coup. Now he was completely at his wits end.

“Ah, but let me ask you this. Have there been any positive rumors about you since you took to your training? Do you see any improvement yourself? Has your puissance and vigor improved? Perhaps a sudden ability to locate your stamen while looking down?” The tall man chuckled again as his innuendo registered and Mace felt some mirth enter his mood. Yes, Mace could find his manhood once again and he noted that Stannis was charming him. Mace found himself giving the king’s brother more scrutiny, realizing that he had a good deal in common with his mother. She could cut you in a way that would make you thank her for the insult and asking for a second serving.

“Now that you mention it, my fellow knights complemented me on my weight loss. I can fight almost as well as I did years ago. But your men won’t let me get on a horse so I can’t say for certain all my skills have returned.” He was still miffed. Who was Stannis to baby him after all? His mother was still in high garden, but if the gods were good she would spend time here and teach him a few things. And Mace had no pity for the king’s brother, not after what he’d been put through.

“Do you think any of my knights or the others were going easy on you?” Mace remembered getting beaten by a one armed former blacksmith and the Onion Knight when he first started training. The embarrassment had further spurred him into action, just to prove Stannis was wrong about his ‘uselessness’. He spent hours reading about and challenging the ‘battle plans’ and ‘scenarios’ talked about in the ‘class room’ Paxtor and others attended. Each time he was excluded from Stannis’ meetings drove him to find alternant solutions and holes in the ‘master strategist’s’ plans.

“No, my prince. I earned my respect in the yard and in your classroom.” At first Mace wasn’t even allowed to join the after meeting discussions. Not until he demonstrated a commitment to ‘sound strategic judgment that didn’t waste resources on glory hounding’. Though to be fair a few other lords and knights had been expelled for much the same reason.

“Would you say I waste time and energy on foolish gambles?” The stormlord gave him a piercing look and Mace realized that he was being judged agin. Piecing together what he just said implied that Stannis meant to use him in an important function in his planned Massey Hook campaign. It still didn’t make Mace feel any better about the months of snide remarks or embarrassment.

“No. I’d say you know exactly what you are doing.” Stannis nodded in response to his statement. Then the prince pulled out a sheet of parchment and handed it to him. Mace recognized the remnant of the seal at once, though the writing was in a hand he had to read to discover. It was from king’s landing.

“Your mother contacted the king and he ‘advises’ me to release you to his custody.” Mace looked it over and it the wording was not as tame as Stannis made it out to be. It seemed his mother was more persuasive than Mace knew. That or Robert really didn’t particularly like his brother all that much. Mace wisely didn’t allow the smile forming on his lips to spread as doing so might jeopardize something he didn’t quite understand.

“I believe this letter is about 3 days old and yet I find myself still your guest? I take it you have a good reason for delaying his royal command and aren’t simply planning to turn rebel?” Stannis laughed and bowed at the touché. It wasn’t something you got used to. Seeing the man jest and smile was somewhat unnerving.

“Yes I do! You are going to write your mother and tell her you want to accompany me on my campaign as my shield bearer.” The audacity of the man.

“And why should I do that instead of taking a post on the king's council right now? Your hospitality has been less that it should be to say the least, Not to mention your fleet wont be ready for another five months at the earliest.” Mace could not place it, but something told him to give the prince a chance. Call it opportunism or the last vestiges of decades of courtly training.

“How about wealth and glory for starters. If you go to Kings landing you will miss out on the opportunity to strike the final blow of this war. Think about it Mace, A small group of the very best of Westerosi chivalry taking the fight to yet another collection of fanatics and Essosi slaver trash. Let Randyl have his moment putting out a brushfire, I’m offering you a chance to stamp out the last embers of the dragon flame in a few great clashes."

"And before you mention my fleet, bear in mind the red grade exercises. I have enough ships to transport the required men and materials. The full fleet won’t be necessary to meet my plans. As the letter states; my brother wants me to do something about the Targaryen raiders, well I set sail within the week.” Stannis leaned in towards him and his face was barely three inches away. A dangerous glint was sparkling in the princes black eyes.

“This will be over long before anyone in the capital or Dragonstone knows about it. I hear that some of the Jolly Men actually sleep in diamond studded small clothes and that Lord Celtigar has a Valyerian steel Axe hidden in his secret cellar. My brother, father and almost everyone I know has underestimated me all my life and I know you can appreciate what that feels like. Why not seize the chance to prove them and the world what you are really made of?"

"Not to mention impress my brother and your bannermen as to your restored martial might.” It was then Stannis gave him a wolfish smile. And gods damn the man again, Mace felt one creeping up his own jaw as well!

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Suns and Stars Part 2

Doran Martel  
Sun Spear  
Before Ned came in and within hours after Lord Jon Aryn departed  
Sixth Month of 283 AC

The collection of notes bound with two metal bands that went through each page in the same place was quite interesting. Some might say so interesting that they bordered on treason, or gross insubordination at the very least. Doran wouldn’t ordinarily believe that the Alkebuloni courier was genuine if he didn’t know him and the Stormlanders that accompanied them. The parcel and the documents were genuine to all reasonable eyes.

Good afternoon Prince Doran of house Martel. I am writing you not to speak of false promises or prophetic visions. The last two years have seen far too many of each for my liking and I am sure you agree. This group of letters, rough maps and charts is just a collection of possibilities. The percentages might be off but I have listed what I believe are fair and reasonable estimates based on easily verifiable records. Now before I get into the nitty gritty of the matters I want to discuss, let me say I am unhappy with what happened. The murder of children and women is always a horrible thing. I won’t insult you by comparing that abomination with the tragic loss of my parents even though I also blame Aerys as he was the ultimate cause of both situations. Though I think you should know fury is something I understand all too well. Had I the chance I would express that to the mad fuck in terms that even his addled brains would comprehend, for as long as they remained inside his skull that is.

Doran put the paper down for a minute. Oberyn was to his left and awaited his turn to read it.

“What is it?” the widow peaked warrior asked.

“Since when did Stannis Baratheon use profane language regularly?” The ruler of Dorne looked at Xendo and back to Oberyn who did the same. The black man shrugged as if it didn’t concern him. Doran chuckled as he knew the man was much smarter than he appeared to be.

He was also carrying on a torrid affair with one of the kitchen maids, two of the laundresses and if rumors were true one of the stable hands. The people of the black lands were one of the few cultures Dornish people could joke about in terms of licentiousness.

Xendo wasn’t a spy as Doran would have had him removed, delicately as he was the man of a fellow noble, but he definitely knew the game. His credentials checked out so at the worst he would simply ship him back to Stannis.

“I don’t know brother. They say he took a head wound and now he sings and dances.” Doran chuckled again at Oberyn's statement.

“Xendo is he any good?” Doran asked. The black man smiled. It was a genuine one that reached his golden eyes. Those eyes must explain his success with the women, which was the common opinion Oberyn passed on to him.

“My prince, I would say Prince Stannis is a better dancer than singer. He has a curved blade he likes to swing and when he starts it's like he is fighting a devil. The man twirls around throwing kicks and punches and he even fights with the scabbard.”

“Thank you, you may await my pleasure where you are. Do you require refreshments?” The black man smiled at Doran again but nodded his head. For some reason many people were rather cautious about receiving food from Dornishmen. It was not like they poisoned everyone, and Doran was passing fond of Xendo even if his lord was a bit of a pompous ass. Returning to the task at hand he continued reading.

You lost three you cared for and you care for three in unclaimed. Within the fullness of time many things may happen. Though must say one is beyond even my ability. One is possible rather soon and yet another might be in the future. That is all I can say for now. What I must stress however, is all of these possibilities are only viable provided house Martel shows both restraint and wisdom. Of course as you are the head of house such a statement is redundant. My King’s brother by choice seeks the safe return of his sister. My blood brother seeks his wife to be, unjustly stolen. I seek something more. If it were possible I would erase the errors of last year and bring the dead back to life. However, I am not a god, nor am I even a particularly saintly man. What I am is a very efficient killer; one who is tired of his profession.

My house words are “Ours is the fury” and in the course of this war that was demonstrated and before it ends it will undoubtedly be unleashed again. In the fullness of that many who should have lived have perished and many worthy of the ultimate judgment have been preserved. The beast of war always consumes the best of a nation’s people and should never be invoked by choice. When I think of this I am reminded of a saying of the ancient masters of statecraft.

Rancor can return to delight. An extinguished state cannot return to existence.  
The dead cannot return to life.

  
I do not write to threaten or bribe you prince Doran. You are far too proud to bow to fear and too shrewd to be paid in false coin and empty promises. What I humbly offer is life and prosperity for your people and mine rather than more of the same madness that has taken the best of our generations for the last thousand years. Should you see fit to accept my offer, if you could find it within yourself to raise higher than the circumstances forced upon you, to take the higher road though it burns in your guts I will do all that is within my power standing right along side you. This war has made many victims; taken many daughters, uncles, nieces and nephews for no reasons save the petty resentments and crazed ravings of those unworthy of the title man, let alone ser, lord or king.

So many of them are unknown and forgotten because they had the misfortune to not be born with a surname in a keep. The webs of violence and deceit swallowed many of their dreams and aspirations without a care, as their supposed betters believed self serving fictions while grasping at phantoms. These men and women looked to their lords to keep them from this fate and in that we, myself included have failed them and failed them miserably. Right now four lives, including one of your banner men are at risk. I believe you are the key to preventing more families from experiencing needless loss.

The greatest victory is that which requires no battle.

The sun rise and stars sailing in the night sky are simple things every man, woman and child are free to enjoy so long as they live. Please help me keep more people alive to enjoy them, as our subjects did nothing to deserve any of this.

I have full confidence in your judgment and ability.  
Prince Stannis Baratheon.

Doran put down the letter. Conflicting emotions swirled within him as the ruler of Dorne reviewed the words for meaning. The reference to three lives on the surface implied legitimization of Oberyn's children, however there was another interpretation. Stannis could very well utilize his position and the general dislike of Lord Tywin to force the man to give up his pet monsters. Of course that still wouldn't be full justice for their sister, but it was more than anyone else was offering. There was profit and a threat here. Doran mastered himself before passing the letter to his remaining sibling. Oberyn read the words of the Stormlander 'prince' and responded in the way his brother expected.

The guffaws of his brother turned into a stiff growl and finally the slow breathes of contemplation. What Doran was looking at was the black man’s face. Undoubtedly he was recording their reactions and due to Alkebeloni cultural preference for oral history Xendo would be able to give a very accurate description of their responses. His brother’s voice broke Doran's contemplation.

“Do you believe this? First the old falcon comes here with a sad tale and passive threats and now this stormlander thinks he can buy us off. And webs of deceit? Really, since when did stone face fancy himself a poet?" Doran raised his hand to keep his brother from saying more than he should. Even if Stannis suspected the Spider’s involvement there was no need to confirm it. Truly Oberyn was his father’s son in temperament.

“That is enough Oberyn! Lord Arryn is a honorable man and at least Prince Baratheon has shown us his coin.” The notes had description for more efficient looking boat houses (useful in Planky Town), some kind of paddle wheel boat powered by oxen or men, and some seemingly genuine equations describing trade. Doran could barely believe the simple idea of base 10 hadn’t been used before. Oberyn again broke his concentration with his chuckles.

“Yes and the offer to legitimize my cock was at least amusing.” At that the black man snorted as well. Doran found it less funny. His brother already had three bastard children and while Dornish society didn’t stigmatize them as much as most of the seven kingdoms there was a social difference. The second stag’s offer of retroactive and future legitimizing of his and his brother's children was meant to be a form of weregild that he was surprised no one else thought of. At the very least Stannis seemed to be the most imaginative player he had come across.

“I know that look Doran. Please tell me you aren’t considering..” Sunspear's ruler raised his hand again and his brother subsided. Nothing Stannis promised to do was actually impossible and he wasn’t asking for anything that they weren’t bound to do anyway. If he could deliver them justice or at least a portion of it while netting him power and peace. Well he could always finish the job himself..discretely. And the coming of Lord Stark presented a few other possibilities. Very interesting ones at that.

“Tell me again Prince Oberyn, which of us is actually the ruler of Dorne?” His brother bowed and bent his left knee. Oberyn also splayed his arms out for effect, for even when being submissive Oberyn would never be anything less than ostentatious.

“You are my brother. So shall I pack my things and prepare to help our lord of Stark find his sister and her dastardly kidnappers?” Doran chuckled, at the sarcasm his brother put into his phrasing. It seemed that not everyone believed Lyanna was taken against her will. Putting the two of them together was asking for trouble Doran and Dorne did not need.

“No brother, you will be heading in a different direction. I believe you should pay a visit to Starfall.” Before his brother could answer Doran turned to the dark man who was pretending not to study their reactions.

“I believe your fine ship was heading in that direction and will be able to get my delegation there rather quickly?” The former gladiator nodded once and gave the Dornish prince a knowing smile.

“Most certainly my prince. We already have acquired the necessary provisions," said Xendo. Prince Stannis was someone not to be underestimated in the least.

Oberyn’s voice became calm as he understood exactly how he and his brother had been maneuvered. Doran was somewhat worried for such expressions usually came before an explosive action.

“Please tell me I can at least stay long enough to greet our fine guests from the north?” he asked in a way that his Doran knew was not really a question. While obedient and loyal Oberyn had certain limits even he tested only lightly. Doran sighed.

“Yes you can needle the man, but don’t push it too far. Those northern savages can be every bit as hot headed as you! Remember how this nonsense started after all.” While Doran understood how Brandon Stark must have felt the boy was a fool. Only someone as empty headed as a court jester would wave death threats to a prince in front of the mad king.

“Believe me brother, I will never forget how this all started. But fear not, I believe this wolf has more brains than his brother.” Doran shook his head and dismissed them both with the usual platitudes. The black man would head off to one of his paramours, Oberyn bet on the kitchen maid. His brother likely would find himself with some minor nobleman’s daughter, hopefully unmarried this time.


	10. Stannis IV

For whatever a man sows so shall he reap.

Galatians6: 7-8

The Massy Hook Massacre part 1

**Stannis**  
Aboard ‘Flying Dutchman Squadron’ flagship Aerion’s Restitution  
Ser Davos Seaworth is flag captain  
Eleventh Month of 283 AC

  
“So me prince, You think this will do the trick?” asked my knight of onions. I gave the former smuggler a wink and a cross look. I had told him to check his diction on more than one occasion. It really wouldn’t do to let Davos slide with too much flea bottom lingo if I wanted to advance him further. Ser Seaworth's slightly exaggerated wince let me know the point had been received without me having to say anything.

I figured that was enough negative reinforcement, so I a winked at the chain armored man and said “Well if this doesn’t light a fire under their asses I don’t know what will.” The onion knight's slight smile let me know that I had slipped into my twentieth century American slang. Out here they used arse, cunt and shyte. People had looked at me funny when I started talking about pussies and mother fuckers. While it really didn’t take much to understand me I really didn’t need to cause men concern about my mental faculties. Especially when I was doing a number of experimental things at the start of a massive campaign likely to go down in history.

A lot of shit had changed since I arrived and decided to muck about busting the ‘wildfire plot’. The first of those things was the re emergence of one Jon fucking friend zoned Connington. Say what you will about his poor choice of waifu, but the griffon lord was a competent and dedicated warrior. Who, if given the chance might revitalize the Targaryen restoration movement. The second and more important thing was the fact Rhealla somehow could afford mercenaries to bolster what few retainers she had left. It seemed the Targaryens either made off with more money than they should have or somehow got more loans with magic collateral.

Now meta knowledge and common sense told me that it was likely our friend with eight legs cashing in favors with a certain cheese monger, select Rogares and whomever wanted to be or marry a Targaryen King among the ‘nobility’ in Esssos. Of course I couldn’t prove any of it and even if I could find some documents, chain of evidence and actual courts didn’t exist yet. But no worries, I only had to face off against the remnants of Rheagar’s host, the hard bastards of Clack Claw point (who had a deserved reputation for being badass knights), The Long Lances, The Windblown and Second Sons. And what’s worse Jon, or more likely their backers as the Griffon Lord was a man of integrity, brought in the Brave Companions and Company of the Cat. Hurray for pseudo feudal turd baskets!

Now keep in mind that whole lot didn’t really amount to more than seven thousand troops of various quality in training and equipment, but armies around this time were usually small. It was a large enough force to be a pain to surround, as commanders of the day had the habit of wrecking the fields you’d need to keep your larger army supplied. And that is before taking into account they could pretty much sail anywhere they wanted above Lord Penrose’s lands (in the Storm lands) with no serious contention. Not to mention any string of victories might start giving quasi loyal lords ideas, despite the fact our side had more overall men and possession of the capitol. So basically Robert, ass he was, had a point about getting this done quickly. Yeah and they were transported over here by the Jolly Fellows and the strongest native element of their fleet came from the Valyerons. The lords of Driftmark were not only hard core Targaryen loyalists, that group of purple eyed fuckers were not slouches when it came to seamanship. Did I mention I was facing them with a small fraction of my naval power?

“It’s a good thing those guide stones and signal boxes of yours work like a charm. Your gear, our training and my intelligence are as good as can be expected Stannis. We’ll break our feet off in their backsides sho nuff!” Davos said with a grin. He laughed to relieve the obvious tension the knight read in my face. I joined him in mirth even though my onion knight deliberately butchered my Brooklyn accent. Then the man clapped me on the shoulder before walking off the leader of my ‘distraction’ force arrived. My spirits were in fact improved by Seaworth's impromptu pick me up, though his poor but well meant comedy wasn't the only reason I felt better.

Of course I did have a few advantages on my side as well. The two dozen or so Summer Islanders were more than competent hands at longbow or sling, both weapons that would aid me. I had the galleys of the Pirate Sallador Sahn (One of which I modified into my flag under the advisement of Davos). There were also a few minor inventions such as the iron needle compass and polished metal mirror lanterns. Not to mention the awesome pirate known as Dagmer Cleftjaw and some of his friends were now in my employ as well. When I met the jovial murderous madman after his crew landed in a nearby village he gave me Lord Balon Greyjoy’s regards. Since then the four lipped cutthroat's input into my strategy discussions was invaluable. Now that things were about to start in earnest we had time for one last review.

“So, Me Prince, are we still in whacha called an official capacity?” asked the master reaver. The man wasn’t more than 30 years old but most of the black in his hair was washed in grey. The missing teeth and garish split down his chin was plain for all to see, not that it bothered him in the least. When I mentioned I would add free dental surgery to seal the gap in his mouth to the payment for his services Dagmar was almost offended. He did however show interest in having steel or iron dentures. Iron born were strange like that.

I replied “No, we are just two salts at sea talking shop now. You ugly ass, sea drunk, porpoise fucking, empty brained, squid bastard.” Having said that, for a man representing a culture more rape happy than the wildlings Cleftjaw wasn’t that horrible or unlikable. He like myself and the other crew were dressed in simple black leather brigandine cuirasses. Unlike most types of armor it wouldn’t absorb water quickly if we fell overboard and had a simple clasp all of us could undo with one hand in under four seconds. Our other clothes were also black, the better to do our work in. In addition Dagmer was wearing a short sword and his two handed bearded axe was strapped to his back. On his side were a couple of the ‘Francisa’ throwing axes I introduced to him and our hand picked group.

  
“Har! coming from eagle bald, moose faced, green lander ponce who wouldn’t know which hole to put it in, I’ll take it as a compliment,” came his jovial reply. Though with his gruff voice and menacing demeanor another person might take Dagmar to be threating my life. To be honest even though I could see the joke in his eyes such demeanor let me know just how different the Iron Born were from the rest of Westeros. I imagined to live among those hard bastards one had to adopt a prison mentality. That or accept the risk of becoming a 'bottom' and in a such a rape happy culture that was probably literal. 

I looked at the man who despite his increasing girth was still a powerful warrior with a casual contempt. The trick to dealing with Iron Born was to mix respect, threat and macho humor. For instance, the Iron Born were very similar to the Greeks, Romans and Japanese of the pre industrial period in one regard. They all considered homosexuality a sin for the receiver only, though it was still a minor embarrassment to prefer men when women were available.

Thus I delivered the coup de grace with “At least that hole wouldn’t be attached to a cabin boy!” With that Dagmar slapped his right leg and we both started laughing in earnest. It was a good stress reliever.

When he stopped laughing there was a tear in his left eye. The Cleftjaw said “You curse pretty well for soft green lander. All right skull takers gather round and listen good!” The collection of Iron born, close associates of Davos, Alekuboloni and some of my more mentally flexible liegemen stopped talking.

“Ok boyos when we get back to our boats we’ll sail here.” The master seaman pointed at the map where Davos indicated the secondary targets would be located. His men’s signals would be fairly obvious, fires and sudden screams in the night. Dagmar made it very painfully clear what I would do to any man I found out had taken time out for a bit of rape, or unnecessary killing of civilians.

Some times a villager was in the wrong place at the wrong time and that was war, but my presence should ‘keep them honest’. ‘A hemp rope for the lot of them would be better for that’ came Inner Stan and while I though Dagmer the ‘best of a bad lot’ I really couldn’t fault his opinion of the lands of the Drowned God.

I tuned out the briefing as I had heard it a great many times before and I waited for my first taste of real combat in this new life.

Two and a half hours by water pressure clock later  
The port of Sharp Point,  
A foggy night, with a bright moon

I chose this target for a few reasons. One was that when using dead reckoning and a primitive compass that still had a few manageable issues (such as pointing to a weird as fuck pole) you need all the help you can find. Having your enemy light a giant fire at night on top of a big stone tower for little reason but pride and thereby illuminating his immediate coast certainly counts. Second, it was the very closest viable target to Drift mark and Dragon Stone meaning it was a place important mercenary fleets would be. As no sane lord would have the Jolly Fellows or the Red Skulls land in their port and near their small folk. And as the Valeryons and Dragon stoners were the principle loyalists the Dragons would not allow mercenaries near their retainers who likely act the fool in their backyards. Finally, since the dragon lovers had been having things their own way for the last few months or so their security was fucking lax. A dozen long boats with predominantly Iron born and hard seamen crews and a few 100 to 200 oar galleys coming in from the sea at night look just like more reinforcements. Having some of Davos’ boys waiting to sow a bit of extra chaos didn’t hurt either.

As we approached the fairly festive port through the light fog I could see the large bonfire on the big tower in the distance. There were some smaller fires outside the city but those were basically camp fires and revelry. They were winning as far as they knew and their pay ship was sitting in port ready to give them another reason for joy in the morning. For some reason I couldn’t help but remember my first time in combat. ‘This is no time for nostalgia or nerves man!’. For the umpteenth time I ignored the sourpuss.

“Ok boys steady. Davos bring us around when you see the group of three fires, I said more for my own benefit than my men. We had drilled consistently to be ready for this moment. The target vessels were pretty much arranged where our people said they would be.

I was still a midshipman, working a joint operation with the Colombians against F.A.R.C allied cartel drug/people traffickers. What they did to innocent folks had pissed a lot of us off enough to volunteer for the assignment. I was there because my skills with logistics bordered on OCD, another thing I had in common with OG Stan. I squashed the ‘I heard that’ without a second pause. It turned out their organization had more leaks than a sieve and my analysis was perfect for leading my patrol boat into a trap. We were supposed to be outnumbered and relatively outgunned as our mission was observation and advisement not fire support. There was no helicopter or friendly air base nearby and I figured the Cartelito’s thought some dead Yankees would get us to back off. What they didn’t count on was me not being naïve, and knowing where the Brassholes had stashed the 50 millimeter machine guns. Antiquated it was, but nothing says fuck you like a few thousand rounds of FMJ heading down range.

We closed in on the fairly empty ships and ignored the few skiffs that somehow just now remembered that they were in fact still at war and moved towards us. The value of proper fire support in assaults is something no sane commander ever forgets. This is why when the wildfire explosion went off on their south side I showed them what I learned back in my old life.

“And that’s it, light em up!” I cried. With that my ship and its two companions unveiled the polished mirror lanterns. They served the purpose of identifying our targets and blinding them at the range we were at. Jhalabar potted the Massey Hook knight in what seemed to be Targaryen colors. Said knight's chain mail vest didn’t do much to save him from a ‘super’ golden heart longbow shot at 40 yards and he fell over into the water. His companions took stones and various projectiles as well. We continued happily on away in silence for another few minutes until we heard yelling and alarms on the docks.

However, that wasn’t because of us. No that was Dagmer and his friends setting enemy support and combat vessels alight on the opposite end. Self igniting torches attached to strings formed a type of Molotov sling. And they were very good force multipliers against beached vessels with few guards. Of course most of said guards had been silenced by the bloody split lipped madman’s reavers, who also were taking the opportunity to take some jewels and heads in the chaos. As they were Iron Born I decided to let them have a bit of controlled fun and placed a bounty on any head with hair and beards in three or more colors. That should keep them focused on the right people. I even added a bonus for bringing the head attached to the living body in case of officers.

“That’s four my Prince,” the not so colorful Alkebeloni said in a low voice. Xho was not quite as good as Xendo with his bow. This was largely because the more likeable golden eyed man spent more time mastering his weapons than brownnosing. Well that is unless you consider the time he spent 'practicing the spear' with ever willing maid, nurse and the odd groom brown nosing. The would be enemy archer on the last skiff took a dive with an arrow in his neck. Xendo would have hit him in the head, I thought, but Jhalabar wasn’t that bad an archer or a person. After all he treated his servants like people, which already made him a better man than most lords I had seen. Xho could even sing, as it seemed love making and song were must do’s in Red Lotus Veil among the nobility.

I clapped him on the back and said “Good shit my man! Now focus on the bridge.” The Red Hand Pirate/Sell Sail flag vessel ‘Touche and go’ was almost in spitting distance. Now unlike most other times, the ship would at least be at half guard with that much pay and loot aboard and thus we should have been facing a fair amount of resistance. The ship was a larger than my own as were its two sister ships.

However, what they did not have were repeating mechanical crossbows with ammo hoppers or bright lights to blind enemy missile troops. Said demi ballistae were the anti personnel type and they only weighed between one and two hundred pounds. The lighter ones were on the long ships and were quite useful for keeping the skiff and smaller ships from bothering them at their work. While the lighter arrows wouldn’t punch through real armor and their supply of munitions was limited, they were sufficient for suppressing the mostly unarmored enemy or covering a retreat. Largely unarmored men trying to fight large numbers of fires were in for a world of hurt.

Smply put the enemy did not stand a chance against a surprise attack by super expert bowmen, spear throwers and slingers who were each motivated by a bounty system. That and the Corvus that quickly slammed down on their deck, the better to allow me to steal their ship with my dear. Now some might say that adding an extra risk of capsizing and forgoing your sails to rely on oars is a bad exchange in order to make boarding actions easier. Those people never had to win a battle decisively in a matter of months or worse more than one consecutive battle before the real war could get started.

Jhalabar called out another two marks I would owe him for in as many seconds. Ok, the man was a damn good archer. I noticed that as I followed the first of my section across the damn wooden and iron drawbridge we had instead of a normal mast. The ancient Romans had used these to overcome Carthage’s experienced navy by creating a solid platform for their armored fighters to use their formations. If it worked for them…

Things didn’t go all our way though. One of my new knights fell back and I pushed him away from the edge of the enemy rail as I stepped across. He had a short bow arrow in his left leg. Before the archer could adjust his aim my throwing axe found his chest and he fell back with a shattered ribcage, as the festive mood caused him to forgo armor. Then I didn’t have much time for conscious thoughts as I waded into the fight. Fortunately the ‘search light’ kept accurate enemy archery to a minimum, but they also identified to just about everyone what we were up to.

“Ya!” cried I as I brought my bucker around to deflect a thrust from a short sword that probably would have bounced off my armor. My slightly curved cutlass removed his arm above the elbow and I rammed my buckler into his throat for good measure. I had heard of the battle madness before by my brother Robert, and to an extent I had felt it in the Amazon as I let ‘the pig’ squeal my displeasure with people who chopped up villagers and raped nuns. However, killing with my own hands in melee combat was something else entirely.

A flamboyant man in what looked like a fancier version of Jhalabar’s normal coat of plates hollered a challenge at me and rushed in with what seemed to be a transitional rapier. I did not feel like a long fight so I let him lunge before pretending to feint to the left. I was taller than him and he didn’t realize that flick cuts to the wrist were in fact quite deadly, which is why his sword continued the lunge along with his hand around the hilt. My reach gave me an advantage against opponents who couldn’t gang up on me and a slight bend allowed me to cut men in angles they probably didn’t imagine possible. For instance his friend received a disemboweling cut before he knew I was actually in range.

I stepped in and punched the next man in line with the knuckle guard and drew the cutlass across his throat when his head flew backward. By then it was almost over as the deck was running out of people to defend it. These men were expecting to throw drunken sailors into the brig when they demanded early pay. They weren’t ready for pumped up and motivated not!viking raiders. It turned out the man with the rapier was the captain and about three of Jalabar’s arrows later they had all either given up or jumped overboard. I was feeling merciful so whomever I didn’t actually need as a prisoner got tossed over the side to swim back to shore. Yes I allowed the wounded to stay where they were. I was pragmatic with time management and security but I wasn’t a fucking savage after all.

As we faded into the night amidst the smoke we sang.

We will, we will rock you!

Buddy, you're a young man, hard man  
Shouting in the street, gonna take Westeros someday  
You got blood on your face, you big disgrace  
Waving your banner all over the place

We will, we will rock you, sing it!  
We will, we will rock you

We had the prize crews sorted out in advance and we were on our way before any organized pursuit could arrive. To be honest the Iron born and Davos’ pet pyromaniacs gave the Massey Hook garrison much bigger concerns. I didn’t count the loot until after checking on my wounded and getting the butcher's bill. However, if there were less than the equivalent of 17,000 gold dragons in the Touche alone, then I was blind, deaf and dumb. According a book 10 dragons could equip a knight in plate.

It seemed I lost two dozen of my men dead including some Alkebuloni. Fortunately, it wasn’t anyone I knew or liked, and yes that included Jhalabar. My allied forces counted another thirty two dead. In total there were another thirty wounded lightly. Twenty seven were hurt bad enough to maybe not fight again and another four might die of their wounds, despite my best efforts at applying modern medical techniques.

In return, I had provided my Brother the first clear victory of the last stage of this war. The fires that spread along the fog spoke to at least 40 vessels of different make on fire, not to mention the supplies burning inside the armored camp. And since this was enemy territory any reprisals the mercenaries carried out would only hurt the Targaryen cause. Yes that was a bit cold blooded in my calculus but I wasn’t the fucker who thought it was a good idea to bring goddamn Blood beard and Vargo Hoat to Westeros. Once I got proof enough to convict the Eunuch I would have to find an inventive way for him to die.


	11. Jon Arryn II

**Jon Arryn**  
Kings Landing  
Red Keep  
After the ‘wildfire’ plot and royal reception ceremony.  
Eighth Month of 283 AC

As a rule Jon Arryn believed in stability and gradual improvement over rapid growth. In his experience even good ideas could have negative consequence, as the somewhat lamented reform attempts of Aerys’ father proved. However, Stannis had played his part well and Jon could do little to stem the ‘suggestions’ in the ‘portfolios’ the king’s brother had sent from progressing. The reception ceremony that honestly counted as a re-crowing had made the former sour lord very popular in his brother’s eye.

  
Shortly after the crowd had been calmed and most of the wildfire removed.  
In front of the steps of Baelor’s Sept.

  
The music certainly was fit for the occasion. The black men and women, and it was obvious Stannis made sure that none of them were attractive or young, were playing new instruments and fantastical melodies. There were strange horns, large flute things called oboes and a turn table with various sound making items present. They had all but sequestered themselves in the sept once the wildfire had been cleared out. Along with them were westerosi musicians, including a few septons skilled with the pipe organ. They said they had something special in store for the king's speech.

The aging leader of the musicians, Kimboc So, called himself a master griot in the service of exiled Prince Jalahbar Xho of Red Lotus Vale. The cane using artist had left with the exile to ensure that his story would not be lost to his people despite exile. From what Arryn could understand griots were something like bards, but they served the purpose of historian maesters. That translated to people who told history with more than few embellishments, especially as they were often paid by the princes of the black lands for their skill in motivating loyalty. Not that the average maester was much different, but the griots were a bit too honest about it for his taste. 

  
Here we are, born to be kings,  
We're the princes of Westeros.

Here we belong, fighting to survive  
In a war with the darkest powers.

  
The string instruments crooned in a slowly ascending crescendo and ended with a rapid flourish that the various bards said defined a music style called rock and roll. When questioned they admitted that Prince Stannis had said he had read of the style in a crumbling tome and felt it was workable.

Jon began to contemplate the king’s second brother. Stannis was always a bit strange. Even as a child, men said he would spend hours locked up with himself and books. It seemed the middle Baratheon never forgot anything he read and could recall even small details with crystal clarity. That he could deduce there was a great deal of wildfire unaccounted for was possible. But the recent inventions and sudden musical skills? It stretched the Lord of the Vale's credulity past its breaking point. 

  
I am immortal, I have inside me blood of kings.  
I have no rival, no man can be my equal  
Take me to the future of your world.

  
Then the griot yelled ‘Yeah’ and one bell in the chapel rang once. Then the beat changed and the gongs came out. In between the beats of the smaller bells the organ, horns, woodwind, drums and lute ‘riffs’ became harder before mellowing out into something almost inaudible. Though Stannis might have misjudged just how loud that bell was, because he like many other people would still be recovering and unable to appreciate their skill fully.

  
Born to be kings, princes of Westeros  
Fighting and free, got your world in my hand  
I'm here for your love and I'll make my stand  
We were born to be princes of the Westeros.

  
When he questioned Renly, the smug boy said his big brother simply asked for a few musicians. About a week later he was playing the harp and lute with melodies he claimed were a combination of study and divine fortune. Though Stannis reportedly said none of those instruments ‘were as good as a geetar’. The child’s lack of proper phonetics was cute, though Renly continually tried to sound like a ‘proper prince’.

  
Fly the moon and reach for the stars  
With hammer and head held high  
Got to pass the test first time-yeah  
I know that people talk about me. I hear it every day.  
But I can prove you wrong 'cause I'm right first time.

  
The griot and his assistants crooned out the rest and when the song was done people were shouting to hear more. King Robert was truly the most thunderstruck by the surprise. The speech he was to give in five minutes was also written by Stannis and Arryn believed the man was either mad, a genius or a prophet. Stannis was making propaganda for an event he had no solid proof of and the infuriating prince changed Arryn’s original narrative. Originally the Baratheon claim was based on Robert's Targaryen grandmother, but as the king would later ape Stannis’ argument of there were others with a better claim.

Arryn recalled his former ward's brother not saying many words in the few instances the three of them were in the same room. That such a political animal was hiding beneath those gaunt brows, was very surprising. Robert gave his speech in his ‘stag’ armor. The great hammer in his right hand and the horned helmet in his left. On his head was the simple golden antlered crown. It was a larger more intricate version of the one his brothers had donned because the new regalia that his brother had suggested were not yet finished. In a rare display of brotherly care Robert declared he would not wear them until the war was won or all of them were together again.

Robert began slowly with “Some of you think I started this war because Rheagar kidnapped my bride to be. Some of you believe we are war because King Aerys murdered my best friend’s brother and father. Right now the Targaryen loyalists and lickspittles decry me as a usurper. They say I spat on our ancient traditions, law and culture."

"The truth of the matter is I took up arms against the Targaryens because they spit on the 7 kingdom soul itself! Their repeated incompetence and stupidity has betrayed their loyal retainers and simple human decency once to many goddamn times!” The crowd roared in agreement. Almost being burned alive tended to sour their previously pro dragon stance."

“I won’t mention the incestuous relationships, petty cruelties and simply tyrannies. I won’t go into how the mad king alienated his best friend and Lord Paramount of the West by not supporting him when the Reynes and Tarbecks tried to usurp his titles. Or how Aerys decided to abuse him at court despite years of loyal service. All because he wanted to keep Tywin’s beloved as a concubine and the man had the gall to object."

"I won’t mention how he had my parents running about looking for a bride when there were plenty of good noble Westerosi women available or how he forced Lord Steffan and Lady Cassana to rush home through a storm that killed them within sight of me. Or how he didn’t foster me or my brothers despite our close kinship. The bastard didn’t even bother to send for us to visit the capital to offer his condolences. I won’t mention how I never even laid eyes on him in years despite our kinship or how much my parents sacrificed for him."

"No. I won’t even mention how his son, despite all his pageantry, was a prophesy mad idiot. Destroying alliances and the trust of your most loyal lords does not make for effective leadership. His father squandered the good will of the Westerlands and Dorne too. It's damn near impossible make friends of those two and all Aerys had to do was not be a paranoid git chasing imaginary schemes. The ‘perfect’ prince took it a step further by not informing anyone he had a plan at all."

"I mean not that anyone would have believed Lyanna Stark would wait for the last possible moment to run off with a married man. Or doom her children to bastardy and shame. But to think that he could violate the most holy of our institutions without so much as a paper shield, ‘by your leave’ to even his father is a whole new height of arrogance!”

"I am not stupid, despite what some might believe and neither are any of you. But for some reason whoever is controlling Rhaella Targaryen right now believes the people of Westeros are as addled as butter bumps. That you don’t mind being part of a bonfire, that you have no value whatsoever. That you will take all of this and beg for more. Will you?”

The crowd roared with here here’s and mad just like his father. Arryn had turned to little Renly who wasn’t as surprised as he should have been. The boy looked at him and spoke in his solid voice.

”Speak to and treat others with respect, regardless of station if you want the same in turn. That is the second rule of good leadership. Isn’t that right Lord Hand Arryn?” The old man stopped his evaluation of the king's speech to consider the young lord next to him. It was a good lesson. One that most seven year olds didn’t quote let alone understand.

The Warden of the East was curious. “And what is the first lesson Prince Renly?” The boy had called him out for not using his title in ‘official capacity’ situations. The child kept his serious face, but smiled when it did it too. It seemed his time during the siege had a lasting effect.

“Carry oneself with the dignity and respect you want others to show you. If a man or woman doesn’t respect themselves it tells others how to treat them as well,” the child prince answered as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. The deliberate lull in the speech done Robert continued before Arryn's silence could betray his astonishment. 

“Let's not even get into the way Aerys treated the mother of his own children. Pimps in the sewers of Piss Water Bend would be appalled. It’s not a surprise Rheagar believed what he did was normal growing up in that household. And let's not forget the Mad 'King' kept his son’s heir, his own lawful heir, in the city instead of Dragon Stone. In his spite filled madness Aerys condemned them to a fiery death alongside all his other enemies, real and imaginary. This is the kind of man the so called perfect prince abandoned his family to. A brave woman who risked her frail body to deliver him two healthy children died alone, abandoned. Denied comfort and companionship by those who should have been her succor by right of marriage vows.”

Jon had analyzed that speech four times before he ‘allowed’ Robert to give it and he was still picking up subtle meanings. The way Stannis painted Rhaella as a victim of fanatic fools instead of an instigator greatly mitigated Robert's perceived hatred of all Targaryens. And the way Stannis brought up Tywin’s grievances against Aerys painted his pets’ actions as revenge instead of service to Robert’s cause. The king's middle brother also slyly deflected blame for Elia and her children’s death to Aerys himself. All in all it was something worthy of Tywin, though Arryn doubted the old lion was very happy with the second Baratheon at the moment.

“Thousands are dead, tens of thousand are homeless, or forever maimed; their livelihoods destroyed. So many innocent people scarred and women foully debased. All because Rheagar felt entitled to play knights and maidens with his cousin's betrothed. I’ll admit I am not the most virtuous of men. But I have never slept with another man’s wife. Even when at my worst state of drunken debauchery I would never up and vanish with someone's sister. I couldn't leave her family and friends sick with worry and dread. That is no way for a kind and thoughtful prince to act! That is no way for a good man to act!"

"Goddamit! I wish I could break his ribs a hundred times!”

That last part wasn’t in the script. Robert paused and emotion creased his face. Something between rage and grief was evident and the beginning of tears could be seen from those near him. Renly rose swiftly and took Robert's hammer hand in both of his. The two exchanged a look. That also wasn’t in the script, but it sold well.

“For over four hundred years Baratheons have fought and died for Targaryens. Orys Baratheon gave his right hand for Aegon Targaryen. Yes the Martells have many more royal marriages and the Valeryons have even rode dragons. However, we were the first to draw swords for them. That’s because brothers should always support each other.” Robert put his hammer down and wrapped his arm around Renly. The sight of that tiny boy almost vanishing within that massive armored arm only to reappear again unharmed looked like more magic. 

“But there are some lines no man should cross, some crimes that can not, must not be tolerated or abetted. The Valeryons and Celtigars didn’t make a stand against this evil, so we did. And we will continue forward! Baratheon sweat, muscle and blood build Aegon his kingdom and now we will build a better one!” There were cheers and shouts that rang down the steps.

“There is only one question that matters as I stand before you all. Noble lords, loyal ladies, valiant knights, industrious traders, steadfast farmers and honest smiths. All of you who would have made one small mistake with a candle and burn in a mandman’s fever dream, had my brother not pieced together this fiendishness. Will you help me, help us do this?”

As the entire section of the city roared in applause Jon Arryn truly came to understand just how underestimated Stannis Baratheon was. The middle stag's plans were in line with Arryn's own. In order they were; tie the great lords to the throne, strengthen the economy and improve the overall prosperity of the kingdom. But Stannis had just dramatically affected the balance of power, not only between himself and the King as his ideas could very well redistribute power in ways Jon was not afraid to admit he did not understand. What he was sure of was that Stannis did know what he was doing. What would happen the day that the man’s new kingdom clashed with Jon’s style of leadership? The Lord of the Vale didn’t fear an attempted coup, for the honor of lord Stannis was legendary. However, if his influence on the king outstripped his own he was under no illusion that more drastic changes would be on the way and there was no telling what unintended affects those could cause.

  
Now

  
Jon reviewed the letters from Lord Tywin and Lord Randyl Tarly. Well he went over the parts he could in the presence of the little prince and his ‘pages’ because for some reason Robert felt like humoring his brother's attempt to teach the lad war craft. In front of them was a map and a few of the ‘diagrams’ Lord Stannis had explained how to make. Near Renly and Ser Davos' sons were two of their tutors. A black summer Islander and some crannogman. They were explaining logistics in a simple way that was in fact useful for Jon as well if he were being fully honest with himself.

“So young prince why can't Tywin just push Ser Jonothor Darry against this river and bring his numbers to bear?” asked the black man. The prince took a moment to think.

Renly replied ”Because even though he has more men it would take more than four hours to get a message through that rough ground. Even horses can't move more than 10 miles an hour here and the math is bad for clear communication. If they divide their forces Jon might destroy them in detail.”

”Good prince, very good,” said the dark brown haired crannog man. Then the almost maester smiled and patted the boy prince on the back.

Then Arryn remembered the previously silent crannog man went by the name of Weldon Bogg, a third cousin of Lord Bogg and a ‘failed’ novice of the citadel. It seemed he ran afoul of others rather than failed in his studies. Something about some trio of acolytes attempting to molest him ending up poisoned. At any rate he was literate and had a fair understanding of moving men and goods by land or river. Not to mention he was part of the boys security detail.

A part of Jon was happy that at least two of the three brothers had any serious interest in the affairs of state. It would help the two corral his former ward once age caught up to him. As Arryn considered Lord Tywin again a part of him laughed. Stannis’ suggestion to have the lion lord send a sizeable number of non combatant facilitators to the river lands as a way of compensating the crown was genius. When Tywin asked what was in it for him in his roundabout way, it was then lord Arryn had broached the marriage between Cersie and Edmure Tully.

It had solved a number of problems. One it got Tywin and a number of Lannisters out of the capitol and put them somewhere useful. Some of them had been murmuring about a possible royal marriage and if Robert got wind of it or if one of the idiots actually said anything.. Second, it linked Tywin to what Stannis, cheekily if you asked Jon, called the ‘STAB’ alliance. The man even had a bloody battle flag with a bloody dagger on it! It also furthered the Storm lord’s trade and development vision. Some of the soldiers would be third and fourth sons with few prospects and the war had killed a good number of people in the river lands. By creating a more stable border between the neighbors the marriage promised to increase trade tariffs and bring farm production back to pre war status more quickly. As an added bonus Tywin would receive a portion of the wildfire stocks to aid what Stannis called 'improved resource extraction technology'.

That was one of the things Jon Aryn was less happy with. Stannis mentioned that the Citadel should expand and bring the wealth of information and knowledge to the use of the lords in a more practical way. He proposed that various institutes be opened in each kingdom based on their primary needs in the case of the West it would be mining engineering school or schools. The Kings brother even made mention that wildfire when pressed into a tight position had an explosive effect which could remove a great deal more stone than by hand. Should wildfire be improved and studied it could be possible to get more metals out of the same mine with fewer workers.

Lord Tywin’s eyes had widened when Stannis' missive mentioned it being possible to make played out mines at least somewhat profitable. Of course the old Lion immediately backed the king’s brother. No doubt the crafty green eyed warden was thinking of all the gold he could save by hiring fewer people. As mine work was dangerous and life expectancy short such actions would be in everyone’s interest. Of course few miners meant more unemployed restless people at least in the short run. Which is why Jon and other more experienced people were always leery of new ‘developments’ in completing labor tasks.

The old falcon was brought back to current matters by Renly's question. “Lord Hand. Wouldn’t it be possible for lords Tywin or Tarley to use tall wooden towers with my brother's lanterns to send coded messages? Our enemies don’t stay in one place too long so making their own would be difficult right?” That was a good idea. Of course it would take time to transport them over land or water, as the sudden increase in banditry and piracy made even escorted conveys somewhat risky.

If Arryn were honest Stannis was pushing the boy to grow up a wee bit too quickly. As it stood now Renly carried himself in the image of his older brother, and if that were any indication of Stannis' new attitude it as a bit concerning. The youngest Baratheon thanked his servants for doing their duty, spoke informally with the children of smugglers when not in court, and insisted on taking showers at least once a day!

Jon shook his head. What really was bothering him was how well Stannis seemed to be managing the war without actually leaving Storms End. His notes had seen Tywin and his troops in the River Lands with enough time to contest Jon Connington’s mercenaries. Mace Tyrell and the Northern levies originally sent to suppress the mountain clans of the Vale were now keeping Darry and Merrywether busy. If Jon didn’t know any better he would say that the sly bastard Stannis had discreetly been outmaneuvering the enemy months before they left Essos! While Stannis claimed there were likely spies in their camp and vaguely hinted at Varys, Aryn believed him to be somewhat paranoid in that regards. The spider had been a useful tool and thus far. For instance his information on many of the 'insurgents' was both valid and timely.

Arryn noticed Varys reciprocated, with vague hints at Stannis' supposed insubordination. Although such dislike might have more to do with the suggestion the Eunuch should adopt the use of the gym equipment designs that came with the royal prince. Robert had turned that suggestion into a royal decree not long after, when the Eunuch pressed his luck by questioning the younger Baratheon's mental state at the wrong time. While Robert wouldn’t get rid of Varys he did take petty pleasure in aggravating him in a way only Robert Baratheon could.

Yes the capitol was very interesting place to be in.


	12. Ser Alliser I

**Ser Alliser Thorne**  
The Riverlands, the trident  
Beneath The Crossroads inn awaiting transfer to the wall  
A few months after the wildfire plot was exposed  
Eighth Month of 283

Their imprisonment wasn’t horrible. Ser Alliser and his fellow defeated Targaryen loyalists were fed regularly. Their slop buckets were even changed fairly often, which kept the stink down to a minimum. Thorne and the other forty or so men, mostly knights were combat veterans. Each of them had slept under and fought in much worse conditions.

The only reason they were still in this hastily modified jail instead of on the road in a bar filled box or cramped into a ghastly ship hold was the continuation of the war. Most of the roads outside Kings Landing weren’t completely safe despite the presence of increased patrols. No one wanted to spare a strong contingent of soldiers or ships just to send a few men to take the black. So they would finish the rest of the war right here in this no account village and go off to become no account foot notes in history.

Jaremy Rykker’s voice came in from the cell next door. “You know they never did find Rheagar’s body, so he might still be giving the bastard hell!”

False hope was something drowning men clutched at like straws, but Ser Alliser was not most men.

Thus Thorne replied “If the Prince was still alive he would have shown himself by now Jem.” It was a nice dream that some fellow loyalists would break in and save them from a life of frozen balls and wildling spears. But again, facing reality was an old’s soldiers skill.

“Didn’t Find that Kingsgaurd Jonothor Darry neither and ‘nlike the wife snatcher, no body saw ‘im die. All was left was a pile o white armor, but not the fancy sword e liked. In fact some folks say he’s been the one te’rizing them trout. Course even if it is true the bloody git’s just as mad as the rest. Robert’s bunch has the men, money and time on is side. The war’s over and lets be frank, we was fighting for the wrong side!”

That came from ‘Ser’ Penton Gravewaters. Not all of the wall bound were high born knights, some line Penton were just up jumped men at arms Rhaegar in his mercy had dubbed for their continued support in dire circumstances. More than a few refused to believe the allegations of kidnap and rape, but the fact of how irresponsible the prince was couldn’t be disputed. Worse, stories of hundreds or thousands of jars of wildfire streaming out of Kings Landing couldn’t be ignored. It had caused many of those Tywin singled out to make examples of very angry.

It was one thing to bravely go off to face a life of exile for staying loyal to one's oaths. Oaths generations of your ancestors gave to a dynasty which ruled for centuries. It was another thing to realize that sacrifice would be completely disregarded by your soon to be fellow prisoners. Very few would feel pride at serving someone willing to kill everyone in the capital of his ancestors because he was about to be displaced by his cousin. Yes, Tywin murdered Elia and her babes brutally, but death by immolation was no kinder a fate. But Alliser did not want to rehash his life choices at the moment, all the man wanted was a bit of peace to enjoy the Southron sea air. He would soon miss it after all and so Thorne spoke harshly.

“Don’t you start that shyte again! You heard Gomad Heddle. If he has to break up one more argument betwixt you sad fucks he will cut all our rations.” The Heddles were getting paid to house them in their cellar, but it didn’t mean they had to like it. For one thing it meant they had to store their goods elsewhere costing them room for other customers. Secondly, they weren’t being paid enough ‘per head’ to cover their expenses. Tywin Lannister didn’t exactly give them much choice in the matter and the slightly stout older woman doubted the lion lord would take kindly to being petitioned for more coin. So the casual abuse of authority Thorne and his mates had suffered was a might understandable.

And to be completely fair and honest the Heddles had protected them by seeing off a mob from the nearby village who decided to ‘deal with’ the city burners once and for all. The old woman had laid into the drunken torch wielding mob with a sharp tongue, before flashing the writ of requisition (not that 1/9 could have read it) and displaying more than six good crossbows and various bladed weapons. Though to be honest how much of her crossbow wielding kin’s action had been in defense of common decency and the kings law and how much had been avoiding the destruction of their property and the wrath of Lord Rains o Castamere was up for debate. In any rate they were alive and reasonably well fed, so Alliser would chalk that up in the win column. Seven knew he needed a win. He heard the Wall had something called Mole’s Town that had decent food and tractable women, unlike the crone and terrible she brats infesting this place. Ser Alisser prayed it was true as he took a cat nap in his corner, and dreamed of a world that made sense.

Thorne thought of such a clear world. One where one’s lord was a man his knights could be fully sure was in the right, where vengeful grooms didn’t let others butcher children in their beds, where you could tell a man’s character by standing in front of him for six minutes. What he woke up to was the sounds of over twenty horses outside. Thorne hushed everyone, thought it was more routine than command as they all wanted to know what was going on. Likely it was their escort, but it might well be their execution party, as no one could guess what exactly Twyin would consider necessary. If the latter there would likely be no witnesses remaining and he would honestly pity the irascible but brave woman.

“Yes, milord I have them all downstairs. I done fed them right and proper.” That was the sound of Masha Heddle. He hadn’t heard her so scared since the Old Lion had them dragged down there from the Trident.

“Gomad go down with milord and fetch his men. Sina, Anya bring out some Arbor Gold and cracklin for our guests. Michael see to our stocks and those of our guests who are willing to donate some fresh garments. Ollie go out back and start a bucket run, I’m sure everyone would like to refresh themselves. Don’t dawdle.” Well that was it, no grand rescues and glorious retribution on the usurper and his dogs.

The squat nephew of the innkeeper was recognizable as he shambled down the stairs holding a lantern. His brown hair and brown eyes marked him as member of that former knightly house. Behind him was a ghost swarmed in shadows. Tall, muscular with blue eyes and light brown hair. Ser Alliser had only seen the man a few times, but even clad in plain steel plate Jonothor Darry was unmistakable.

The stern eyes of the kingsgaurd glanced up and down the forty something odd men in the makeshift stockade. Most were more than a little slender, but they were not grimy bags of bones covered in bruises and scars either.

Darry's voice was harsh and he barked out “You call this right and proper treatment for knights sirrah?” It was said that Jonathor was one of Aery’s most staunch defenders. That loyalty apparently carried over to his men. The inn man wet himself and cringed in a corner, because as far as he would know dismemberment and death were the usual consequences of such a tone. It was then that Ser Alliser found his tongue.

“Good sir. You need not be too hard on the man and his kin. They have treated us as well as their meager possessions allow. And when the mob came for us they saw them off.” Darry’s stance became less hostile, but he still snatched the keys from the man, pushing him into the wall in the process. After he unlocked them they went upstairs to clean up, eat and change clothes.

Jonothor was not Tywin and despite his anger he understood the realities of the situation for everyone involved. He only gave Gomad ten lashes and his aunt four on account of her age and sex. As cruel as it might seem to those who didn’t know the mindset of the highborn those scars would be very beneficial to the Heddles when Tywin got word of this incident. They could parade them and the loss of their strongbox as proof of the price of their loyalty. It was a farce but the realities of the real world were what they were. He also noted that none of the detractors of Aery’s or Rheagars’ lack of honor or sanity spoke up or volunteered to remain behind and join the watch per their vow. They left the Inn without further incident and when they were away he recounted his recent events.

“After I buried Rheagar, I laid low to see if anyone else survived. Barristan surrendered to Robert. Tywin and Mace are now fighting for the Stags. Stannis is building a fleet on Storm's End. No one knows what Doran is thinking, then again what else is new?” Darry laughed at that and so did most of the now free men.

“There is good news though. Our fleet escaped intact and is running all over the east reminding the usurper's dogs that we are not finished. The kraken got more than he bargained for and his heirs are now stewing back in their caves. Rhaella still lives! So does Viserys and if the gods are good Lyanna Stark carries a child of Targayren blood in her veins." Darry must have sensed the unease coming from some of the men. More than a few believed the tales stemming from lord Stannis. After all unlike his older brother the man was known for sobriety and honesty. Not to mention the Baratheon story was logical. Thus the kingsguard spoke animatedly.

"Do not believe that calumny against our Silver Prince. He was never a rapist and why should he need to write a letter explaining why Lyanna would chose him over that smelly drunk? He claims to fight for love, but at his most famous battle he emerged from a harlot’s bed! And do you believe her father and brother didn’t know his ways before their betrothal? Our prince saved her and her family from treason! He did not confide in me but things I have seen make me believe that the Baratheon marriage was to have been the spark signal for revolt."

"Rickard Stark and that fox Tully were planning rebellion long before Harren’s Hall. Aerys knew this and so did Rheagar. Or do you truly believe them to be innocent of this charge? Do you think they would have produced a letter calling out thier intended partner for thier crimes. Any note from the king would have seemed self serving.”

In his minds eye there were angles that still didn’t fit. But there were enough points which matched up with truth for the aging house Thorne knight to give the man who spared him from a frozen cock the benefit of the doubt.

Thus Ser Alliser looked Jonothor in the eye and said ”Aye, I’m still your man. I mean I’m Rheaella’s or Viserys’ man. Which of them rules now?” All of the others soon followed suit. The Kings guard smiled as he spoke.

“I think they have crowned Viserys, but we will know more after we find a ship and join the fleet. But first we should make our presence known in the Riverlands and Vale of Arryn. Fret not the dragon still has many friends at hand.”

They spoke no more as they rode their horses to a secret stronghold. It would feel good to have arms and armor again. To know battle and camaraderie with those who shared a cause was everything Alliser had dared to dream of. The gods had seen fit to give him another chance at glory and he wouldn’t waste it. Any doubts he still had would be washed away in the tides of battle.


	13. Bellweather I, Osmund I, Janos I

**Bellweather**   
Cellar hide out  
Rosby Near Kings landing  
A few weeks after the Wildfire plot is exposed  
Seventh Month of 283 AC

The woman in the form concealing robes smiled as her old mentor finished looking over the letter before handing it to her. As usual there would be a questions and answers period, just as when she was a small child. Her master said it was developed by some Valyrian Ancient called Socratesion. At times it was helpful in understanding a problem, but there times Bellweather thought Shep was just fucking with her for his own amusement. He was strange that way.

Good day Lord Peter Bailish.

I sincerely hope you are well and I would like you to know that you have my sympathies. This war and its antecedents were the results of madness, senseless cruelty and obscene selfish ambitions on the part of those who should have known better. So many were its victims that even the great library of Old Town could not list a third of them before overflowing. However, the greatest of the Targaryens’ sins is the same one that usually goes unnoticed in the hearts of both ‘nobility’ and ‘commons’. And that sin is willful blindness towards the truth.

An ancient philosopher once told me that the trick to discovering the motivations of another is asking two questions. First, what is the worst possible motive for their actions and then what is the best possible motive for same?

I would say that such a saying is too simplistic. One should continue their analysis further to avoid observation bias. Which is a Valyrian word saying we get to close to an event and everything we observe becomes related to our own interest instead of reflecting the priorities and beliefs of other actors whose world views and needs often vastly differ from our own.

In this vein I implore you to ask more and varied methods in your search for truth and answers to human motivation. In addition try this motto. Eliminate the impossible and whatever remains no matter how improbable is your answer. Another is in the haze of drunkenness, anger and despair many things are done that lead to sorrow for all parties involved though it seemed right to the actors at the time.

Finally, I would leave you with what little I have learned about the nature of love. Love of the kind I sincerely believe you and all right thinking people deserve is not selfish, nor self serving, nor seeking domination or control. Such love does not require bloodshed or grandiose twenty year plans moving heaven and earth. It simply flows from one heart to another and there are no secrets, coy deflections in public, ulterior motives or hidden meanings within words spoken alone.

I am taking the time from waging the war to end such madness born of the inability to process truth and the needs of others to hopefully prevent the root of this disease from claiming one more life. You are young with an astoundingly sharp mind and a courageous heart yearning to provide warmth. Those are two things worth more than gold and jewels. Please maintain them against the despair that seeks to snuff out the light of your soul.

Do not dream of a fairy tale romance, as you are far to intelligent and courageous fall for such claptrap. We both know how poorly those end for everyone involved.

Frankly you deserve better,  
Prince Stannis Baratheon

"So what say you apprentice?” the somewhat less rotund man asked. His blue eyes sparkled in the lamp light, the mirth within them not disguised by the mummer's stone face. Just great he was going to fuck with her. It had taken the young woman six years to master the game of reading faces and peering into intentions. Then it took yet another three to see this far into 'uncle' Shep's mind. And even now she could not be sure how much of it was due to his willingly allowing it.

Since Shep expected an answer and Bell wanted to get something productive done with the rest of the day they young woman played along quickly. For variety's sake she gave a genuine reply. “Fairly moving. I’d give it 5 out of 8 for effect. But I think he’s trying to hard to be sympathetic instead of outright threatening.”

“Ah what is the threat?” he asked. The mirth in his eyes cooled and now Shep expected serious answers that connected personal and kingdom level politics.

“Stannis will simply expose the possibility of their past illicit affair to Jon Arryn. Then he will let nature and noble opinion take care of the rest. Lord Baelish is not exactly the most wise lord. He has unwisely bragged about bedding both Tully sisters when in his cups.” Bell shook her head before continuing.

"Should the allegations of a man like Stannis be brought to light such foolish drunken boasts will likely come out. The lady Lyssa would come to his defense however there is no telling where that might lead. She might confess, she might imply she was raped, she might admit that they are still in correspondence."

Shep laughed and spoke in his coy voice. "Ah undying love for the ages. Should Arryn take the matter seriously Lord Hoster might tell the truth. Further, should any inappropriate letter be found connecting Lyssa and Peter it would be rather problematic for the latter's career. Though more likely the Fingers will simply get a new lord. Lord Hoster or Arryn would likely arrange a mishap before any trial." For whom was unspoken.

“And the reward?” the man in disguise asked.

Bellweather replied “Wealth, prestige, honor. A match that desires him for who he is and values his ‘excellent’ qualities. The writer understands how to flatter his target.” Then she continued. "And if you notice he doesn't say what or who will be offered. Though Peter would see how well Stannis rewards those who serve him despite their low birth. This will allow such an ambitious man to find a way to earn a very bright future for himself."

"So you see just how dangerous a letter arriving at the right time can be?" the man said in a deadly tone.

"Yes, 'uncle'. I also understand that Stannis has suddenly become a very dangerous man who seems to operate 'by your playbook' as you are wont to say. Somehow the prince is turning agents and shifting events that he should have little or no knowledge of. Stannis either has mastered deductive and inductive reasoning to degree surpassing most archmaesters, paid ludicrous amounts of money for intelligencers of quality or is using arcane arts."

Shep laughed again and said "Perhaps all three. Never forget that some people are dangerous for more than one reason. Not all people who dabble in magics rely wholly on them."

"All right. This is informative, but how do you wish to proceed? Is he in our way? If so how do you wish to deal with him?" She was intrigued by the turn of events, but the level of unnecessary complication was getting on Bell's nerves.

Shep smiled and spoke to her in way he did when she was a todler."Patience dear. Sometimes the enemy in front of you is an obstacle. Sometimes they are a footstool waiting to be of use. Remember what we are truly aiming for dearest. I believe this new Stannis if he truly is the same man can be of great use to us. In fact I believe he might have saved us twenty years of work."

Which was the last thing he should have done after waking her from a comfortable sleep. Thus she snapped off "No, just no. I am grown woman and you should be aware of just how little I depend on you. If you feel we can ride this tiger, fine we will make the attempt. Though I find it passing strange this 'new Stannis' as you phrased it seems to read the same kinds of books you do. I do not think he will be so easily maneuvered."

“I see I did not waste my time with you dear." Shep patted her hand gently and she was almost fooled into believing in the guise of the kindly uncle. Bellweather had seen the man slit the throats of some of her compatriots when he deemed it necessary. Yes he had kept a number of them from starving or having to sell their flesh, but she would never be lulled into complacency in his presence.

Her other hand moved deftly to her belt where her daggers, dust powder and short sword were hidden and accessible by a neat slit in her robes. If Shep tried something he would find out she had not let her talents atrophy.

Noticing her movements the completely average man with an average hairstyle and blue eyes smiled approvingly before withdrawing a step.

“It is good to know one is not dealing with amateurs, incompetents or those absorbed with foolish sentimentality,” Shep said and then presented her with another letter.

Good day my old friend.

Sometimes our adversaries are full of good ideas we never consider. I am reminded of an old proverb. When someone calls you horse the first time, curse him. If he should call you a horse again punch him in the nose. However, should he name you an equine once more invest in a saddle.

I believe I have procured a valuable asset in our enterprise. He should arrive shortly. Do treat him with the courtesy he is due as a noble and a fellow descendant of the free cities. In good time and with proper nurturing he will see the value of our way of thinking and contribute greatly to our projects.

Stay safe

"Trust me when I say I know exactly what you are capable of Bellweather. And as to our future footstool, by my estimation his goals and ours intercede in the medium and long term. And fairly soon he will have too many problems to focus on to worry about our aims." Shep then bowed, leaving her to work at her own pace.

Bellweather was busy for the next couple of hours deciding which agent would do what task. The old man trusted her with the minutia. Wheels within wheels she thought and confirmed her plans to be done with this life before she was too old to even imagine the simple pleasures of spending most of her time without a disguise.

She enclosed copies of the letters and various others with her signet. The rams head was her cover sign and homage to her mentor, because rams lead flocks. She would distribute them to cast, kettle, chatter, wake who would see the tasks carried out. There would be no room for error as the other players, especially a certain Grand Moff were not to be underestimated.

  
**Osmond Morton,**

Lord Treasurer’s assistant  
Kings Landing Treasury  
Late night  
Within the week of the Wildfire Plot’s exposure  
Sixth Month of 283 AC

Osmond cursed himself for his weakness. Why did he have to like such tender little ones? Everything was fine until the older man got a bit too worked up. Then his little playmate wouldn’t breathe anymore. It was fortunate the child was just some orphan and not attached to any establishment. Even if all they did was demand a fee, the mere fact someone knew of his...proclivities would ruin him. Osmund let himself believe that was the end of it, a one time thing. More fool him because it happened again and soon enough he had to admit the then third secretary had the habit. Even then everything could be kept nice and quiet, the city was full of orphans no one would miss, especially since the war. Osmond even got a promotion, when the men between him and his job came down with a sudden case of King Aerys.

Yes everthing was going just fine. Up until he got that letter with the rams head sigil. Now if he didn’t wish to loose more than his privileged job, wife and reputation Osmond was their creature. In his gut he knew this would sooner or later take him down along with all he built, but what could he do?

Osmond didn’t necessarily mind altering records, as he had dipped his hands 'in the pot' so to speak more than once. Hell, all of the keys, scales and even the gold cloaks did it. Embezzlement was a king’s landing tradition. Even the bloody kings knew it. It’s probably why the whoremonger told his brother’s hounds to back off.

Morton didn’t even mind helping the Targaryen’s as he was pretty sure that’s where the money was going. Wildfire aside, and he wasn’t sure who was telling the truth, there wasn’t a real difference to people like him who the king was. A job was a job after all.

What bothered Osmond was the amounts. Sure the treasury was full and keeping track of all of it was likely impossible. It was damn sure unlikely he was the only crooked man in the system and the odds of Morton being singled out were slim to none. Or at least that’s what he thought before seeing the new system of book keeping and how the King's brother was proposing to train a system of ‘clerks’. In the not too distant future there would be no more simply buying, inheriting or being appointed to a position. Soon you would have to at least pass a written and/or oral exam if you wanted the job as well. Seven heavens if you wanted to get a promotion. At least Stannis allowed the guilds to keep seniority and internal control of certain appointments, not that it would do him much good.

No, for Osmond Morton and many other people in this office their only hope was a Targaryen victory. They at least respected traditions and knew enough to let copper counting be done by professionals!

**Janos Slynt**  
Commander of the Iron Gate  
Early morning  
Within the week of the Wildfire plot’s exposure  
Sixth Month of 283

A tall black haired, green eyed man wearing a simple jupon sat near a homely brown haired blue eyed woman in a rough spun brown dress. They both sat on top of a cart filled with barrels being pulled by four oxen. There were two gold cloaks on duty and the older one, a greybeard with black eyes and a pot belly cried out to his partner.

“Say don’t that cart look bit heavy to be luggin fish Bron?” The taller man with blonde hair and black eyes had to be at least fifteen years younger. The relatively young man was energetic with his response indicating his sedentary ways hadn’t made him quite so useless. 

“Yessir Folsom, I’d say there might be a bit more than fish trying to swim out of the city!” the greedy younger gold cloak replied. Whatever salted cod the fishwives couldn’t sell usually went to Rosby or near bout before it could spoil. Of course people in the city would sometimes opt to get fenced goods somewhere they would fetch a higher price. In their opinion if the duo were in fact telling the truth there was graft to made. Since Slint, the guards and the two fences knew most of those barrels contained more lucrative goods there was even more graft available.

The male smuggler riding on the cart sighed and tossed the older gold cloak a bag. Folsom opened and it and bit into one of the silver coins. Of course being a gold cloak he was greedy as fuck.

“So what is it this time Oakshirt? Fancy stone from a manse, or the usual timber?” Folsom asked as though he actually cared about anything save his next score. Oakshirt had received his nom de guerre from ripping up floorboards in the merchant and high born sections and selling the stuff in nearby towns. He also fenced stone and sometimes lead. The war was good for business and the guards could smell the gold even though the man made sure not to wear any. Traveling far enough from the city to find an accomplice’s boat was always risky business.

Folsom's partner used the iron club the watch carried to beat on one of the drums in the wagon until there was a difference in sound. Oakshirt sighed again and went to reach for the semi obvious hidden panel where he revealed a fancy ‘Valerian’ stone head made of marble. It was obviously a fake, but since most buyers couldn’t tell the difference…

The younger guard exclaimed surprise and spoke in voice dripping in false legal piety. “Well lookee here, I’d say that would be a trip to wall would it not?” Oakshirt reached into another pocket, this one filled with gold dragons and was ready to toss it until Ser Janos stirred himself from the conversation he pretended to be engrossed in.

“What’s this hold up men?” The gate captain's jowls quivered as he spoke.

“Old Oakshirt tried to stiff us our due," said Folsom. The outrage seemed genuine which actually amused the crooked watch commander.

Humoring his men, though in reality giving the fool rope to hang himself, Slynt asked “Is that so, what did he pay you?” When the man showed him the ‘standard fee’ Janos Slynt surprised him by dealing Folsom a swift poke with the big end of the cudgel. It wasn't enough to actually hurt, but the older watchman was smart enough to play along with the surprising rebuke. He realized pretty quickly his boss was not pleased with his actions and had no intentions of digging himself in deeper.

Slynt fixed the of them a withering look, one that promised unpleasant assignments before speaking again. “Fucking idiots. You held up the line knowing Just Stone’s frog eaters are sniffing around us. The man gave us what we agreed. We ain’t upping the price because the war is still going on.” Say what you want about Janos Slynt he was a crook, but he was predictable. It was also part of the deal that kept Stannis from taking his job and other things.

No gauging and stop beating people for no damn reason. Yeah he and his boys might miss the days of having a bit of fun with some of the homeless or the occasional harlot, but the high and mighty king’s brother said that was beneath the protectors of the realm. Since the Hand and the king agreed he towed the line. Of course when the peasants got of line because of his brother’s soft heart, well then things would get back to how they should be.

Slynt forced himself to smile and say“You all have a good day.” He then replaced the panel and waived them through. Janos was sure that at least one the damn crannogman had noticed that exchange. They saw you, but you never saw them unless they wanted to let you know. But since no one had been beaten or arrested they wouldn’t be able to do much. It was likely they would report anything strange, look for a pattern and keep quite provided there was no 'obvious harm to the public'.

Oakshirt and his accomplice smiled at him and continued on their way. Inside Janos wished he could get a larger piece of their action. Oakshirt was making a killing converting stolen goods, Slynt was sure of with how many trips the mand made out of the city. But no matter how much he discreetly looked into it Slynt couldn’t find out where the increase was coming from.  



	14. Davos III

**Davos**  
Kings Landing  
A few days before Randyl Tarly’s men arrive and the Wildfyre plot is exposed  
Tower of the Hand  
Sixth Month of 283 AC

Davos said “My prince, yes I can get this done within a reasonable margin of safety. The roy Targaryen fleet by all accounts is circling Dragon Stone. Aside from some minor privacy and a few skirmishes they are not a true obstacle and I’ve made the Massey Hook run a hunned times.” He remembered wincing under Stannis’s look of disapproval when the onion knight slipped into Flea Bottom vernacular.

That was the last time Davos had spoken to his patron in almost ten days. As he predicted his ‘Black Betha’ had carried him, Maester Cressen and their entourage to the capitol ahead of Tarly’s ‘relief’ force. Whatever orders they carried Davos at least could not honestly say other than it was a urgent security matter. Davos laughed when he thought about it, one couldn’t torture information out of people who didn’t know. Of course Davos was fairly certain Cressen knew a great deal of why they needed to get to the capitol in secrecy so quickly as the gray beard's worried looks spoke of dire tidings.

Jon Arryn, hand of the king looked at the letter in front of him for a full twelve minutes before speaking. His gaze varied from thoughtful, to shock to something which border lined on shame. Overall he seemed to be more surprised in a positive way than not.

“And they said the man doesn’t have a sense of humor,” the hand said. Davos could tell that Lord Arryn hadn’t met the man, or at least the man wearing Stannis’ skin recently. That conversation he’d eavesdropped on between him and the black priestess still haunted him.

“I can not speak to anything before I met the king’s brother, but Prince Baratheon does know how to laugh and smile. His humor might not be to everyone’s taste..” Davos allowed the sentence to linger into oblivion. The great lord smiled and raised his hand. Davos knew from his limited training in courtesies it meant he wished silence. The hand spoke in a quasi flippant manner and to no one in particular.

“He also now knows how to sing, dance, re-structure ancient legal systems, arrange intricate marriage alliances and plot political games better than half the lords in Westeros. Are you quite sure our dear king’s brother was not replaced by a faceless man?” Davos’ face went blank and a bit of worry creased his brow. That would be a fair, if technically incorrect guess. Davos was about to make either a joke or dissembling excuse when the graying man brayed with mirth. While the laughter met his piercing blue eyes, they still examined the freshly minted knight too closely for comfort. This was not a harmless genial old man, despite what his manner and appearance indicated.

“It is quite all right Ser Davos. War changes all of us and it seems his brush with death has greatly improved Prince Stannis’ faculties. Even his sudden interest in the moral philosophy of war and treatises are sound, if somewhat naïve.” Said statement was the Hand’s way of dismissing the points his prince made; decrying the necessity of infanticide and the supposed security the death of Rheagar’s children brought to Baratheon rule.

The knight of onions spoke. “My lord, if I may speak freely?” As Stannis’ ‘mouth’ it was his duty to best represent his views and beliefs, which in this case were not very difficult as he shared them. Davos inwardly cursed his inability to effectively read or write as it made his job so much more difficult. The Old Falcon cocked an eyebrow but nodded all the same.

“I might not be able to read as well as my post demands, but I believe I heard the gist of Prince Stannis’ arguments. Pre, primarily the murders were done irresponsibly and without care as to how they would inflame the passions of potentially undecided actors. While the Dornish were enemies they had no real concern for Targaryen rule aside from Elia and her children.” He paused and waited for a reply as Maester Cressen and Prince Stannis explained in their rhetorical reasoning lessons.

Lord Arryn rose to the challenge with his own argument. “And does Prince Stannis believe that they would meekly accede to little Aegon being dethroned and Elia cast aside for Lyana Stark to claim her ‘rightful crown’? Might I remind you that more than half of Llewyn’s host survived intact, the Dornish farm lands and trade interests are completely intact and that there is a large fleet still stationed at Dragon Stone?”

“You make a good point lord Hand. However, another way of looking at it would be the Dornish do not have a reason to support a king who not only allowed, but apparently rewards the unnecessary cruel deaths of innocent women and children. I mean Ser Gregor was knighted by Prince Rheagar. The man has a reputation for murder and rape that didn't even spare his own kin. To have him be the one responsible for this evil does Tywin and our name no favors. Even lords outside of Dorne would agree that looks like a deliberate insult." Davos waited a moment to let that sink in. Maester Cressen then rose to support his efforts.

"I should also point out that the Targaryens still have their fleet, the Dornish still have their grudge and we don’t have any hostages. The fact that all three innocents were killed so quickly when other options were available was folly. It would lead some to believe that either Lord Tywin had no control over his banner men; even in a situation where he had full control over the royal family or he fully intended this outcome from the start.” The second mouth of 'Just Stone' replied. Both of the men sent by Stannis were careful to use those words of condemnation in every sentence. Lord Stannis was clear that his opinion of those acts needed to be obvious. The hand’s face loss all joviality and his deep gaze locked onto each of the men before him. For his part Davos found that he had no give in his own fierce look. Not only had Stannis instructed him to stand his ground respectfully, Davos found he didn’t think much of the Hand’s responses.

“Ha. Your sigil definitely suits you. I am not surprised Stannis picked it for you," replied the lord of the Vale. Said sigil was a black ship on a field of gold. On either side was one large white onion. Stannis said he could change his arms at the end of the war if he wanted to, but Davos came to understand the message his prince was sending. This is my man, whose sigil bears my own colors, disrespect him at your peril. The great lord then continued.

“Yes, some might very well imply that Lord Tywin Lannister intended every single action that day. Very few would believe two men with a history of vile acts against the kin of defeated foes acted in excess of their orders. People are not stupid or ignorant of history and we should never believe acquiescence to our ‘cover story’ is the same as credibility. Yet I fail to see how it affects our current situation or in any way supports Stannis’ proposed course of action.” It was then that the other bald man in the room spoke. His face as unreadable as Prince Stannis’ often was and despite the air of feminine softness his perfumed cheeks exclaimed Davos knew a killer when he saw one.

“Our Lord Hand is quite correct. While regrettable and imprudent by any sensible measure our moral judgment has no bearing on the present. Even if Tywin has forced us to back his ‘most horrible’ revenge by proxy he still represents a powerful portion of our anti loyalist forces. With the Stark, Arryn and Tully forces as battered and potentially fractured we absolutely need his unwavering support to bring this war to a swift end. The longer it rages the longer it will take to recover.” Unspoken was the threat that some lords might switch sides and swing the tides of war yet again. Rumors that one of the seven was playing Kings Wood Bandit in the River lands did not sit well with anyone present. Davos eyed his plumper twin and the dark lilac eyes which answered were devoid of any clue as to his motivations. Davos then moved in for the ‘kill’ as his new patron called it.

“First I should like to remind my lord hand, that Lord Stannis is now a Prince of the realm and should like to be addressed as one during official business. Next I, rather Prince Stannis, would like to ask if Lord Tywin has contributed enough to our cause to be allowed to be viewed as having a controlling interest in our rebellion? There is enough evidence that Lannister’s actions might bring great harm to our cause in the future." Davos paused for effect before continuing.

"It is why Prince Stannis suggested the second or third options in our dealing with him. There is also the issue of integrating the Grey Joys and Tyrells. Each of them might also present difficulties if they don’t receive adequate compensation for their services and unlike the Lannisters, Lord Quellon Greyjoy sacrificed a great deal for benefits unseen.” Lord Jon paused and then looked at his Master of Whispers and awaited an answer. The man had been somewhat hostile towards Davos from the beginning. Not that Davos blamed him, as his documents had suggested 'lord' Varys be retired with a sizable pension. Then there was the suggestion of creating a multi tiered ‘intelligence’ apparatus. Both Varys and the hand had looked apoplectic for some reason that Davos suspected went beyond possible cost.

At least they didn’t argue about the poison sniffing dogs and adding rats and small animals to the internal security around the king. Master Cressen had convinced them of the utility with his demonstrations showing how lower body weight allowed for quicker awareness of poisons. Though Davos suspected it was his relationship with the king, rather than common sense which swayed them. The tittering of the Eunich brought Davos back to attention and the plump man rejoined the conversation.

“By all means we should not be seen to condone Tywin's regrettably extreme choices, lest we push some justice minded lords to stand against us as at this critical stage of the rebellion. I believe we should bind Tywin to us quickly via a Tully marriage and later see about some token punishment for his excess, potentially handing over Lorch or even Gregor. That is if they happen to survive the war. And no doubt our fine Ser Davos will not object to my omission of those callow one’s titles. We wouldn’t want the court to place them in the same class of men with true knights.” The smile of the spider was an ugly thing. Yet the ‘real politik’ behind Varys' answer told Davos just how right the Prince had ‘pegged’ the spy master. The spider's implied solution was elegant. An accident could be made to occur and upon the end of hostilities a trail could commence blaming the dead ‘heroes’ for their crimes. Then the king could slap a token wergild on Tywin. Lord Arryn rolled his eyes and spoke harshly.

“So we are agreed then. Let us move on to the less sensible threats Prince Stannis warns against. Do you really believe that Rhaella Targyrean will ally with the Blackfyres? Robert actually ranted at me and Maester Cressen for almost an hour before threatening to throttle Jaime for his father’ stupidity. I don’t need to remind the both of you what could come of that action do I?” Davos was surprised that he would ask such a question or that he even spoke of in front of Varys. For his part the eunuch didn’t startle or react at all, though he must know that Stannis didn’t want him to know about those suspicions.

The Hand turned to face Davos and spoke.“And yes I inquired our Minister of Whispers about such a possibility. Again I remind you and the Prince that Lord Varys has been pardoned of his previous allegiance and has done nothing to earn such suspicion. In that vein do you have actual proof on your person providing ‘actionable’ intelligence against the man? If not please answer the question and let us see if spy craft is another talent near death has granted the king’s brother.” Davos ignored the jibe. Getting an earful of Robert Baratheon wasn’t pleasant, especially when it was undeserved and done to keep the man from making a problem worse by venting it on its desired target. Fortunately, Stannis had prepared him to answer this question. The man was more prepared than most masters and he had the suspicion that despite his surprise this was actually part of his plan.

“I have been many things including a smuggler. As I said to the Prince, I took many risks and I would do them again for the sake of my family. Stannis starved alongside the King’s younger brother, not for power or a share of the wealth. He did so because the mad king meant to kill Robert and he didn’t trust him not to hurt Renly even if he did surrender," said the knight of onions.Varys nodded and spoke again.

“And with good reason I’m afraid. King Robert’s family was marked for death, root and stem, the moment Robert’s banners were raised. It would have been ‘an accident’, but Aerys was convinced to remove any potential rival claimant he couldn’t be absolutely sure of.” Which sounded right to Davos and he wouldn’t question the support. Though he wouldn’t be falling into the trap of trusting that man as he was even oilier than Salladhor. Davos nodded himself and spoke again.

“The Blackfyres are in fact extinguished in the male line. However, we don’t know the whereabouts of any female Blackfyres. That creates an opportunity for an alliance with them or any number of Essosi cadet Branch Targaryens like the Rogares or Seara’s line. Frankly, the golden company will never give up and they might not care which side of the bed the black or red lies. We also don’t know how much money Rhaella’s supporters took with them or have in hidden accounts in Essos."

"Let’s not forget that money lenders, traders or ‘long lost’ Targaryen cadet branch claimants might see it as a sound investment to place Viserys on the throne. Or they might support his cause just enough to win trade concession from us to stop."

"Rhaella is expecting before the beginning of next year. She damn well has heard of what happened to her grandchildren. Do you think there is anything we could say right now that would convince her we will allow any living Targaryens? Even if the price was accepting a male Blackfyre or rival claimant for the would be daughter in her womb would that deter her? Would it not be better to risk the death of one child in the far future than both right now? I’m going to be blunt my lord hand. She was the victim of her own mountain, she knows what waits for her if she looses."

"Again I remind you that they have nothing to lose, a fleet and at least one Lord Paramount with cause to greatly dislike us. That is the kind of desperate place Tywin’s unthinking ‘necessary action’ placed us in. Do you still think it a ‘wise’ and ‘prudent’ course of action?” Davos couldn’t help but speak the last sentence. But the look of horror on Lord Arryn’s face was priceless. The Master of Whisperers however only narrowed the hood of his purple eyes and stared at him the way a rival dog in an alley does before the fight began.


	15. Eddard III/ Cast I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do Comments I enjoy feedback!

**Ned Stark**  
Almost two and a half months from exposure of Wildfire plot  
Princes Pass, Red Mountains of Dorne  
6 leagues from the Tower of Joy  
Eighth Month of 283 AC

  
Ned thought about the situation they were in. He hadn’t lost any of his closest friends but Martin Cassel had received a nasty gash across his wrist from a spear thrust. The ‘new’ procedures Stannis provided them seemed to work, as there was every reason to believe in other conditions Martin would have lost the hand by now. Still it galled Ned to be essentially doing Prince Doran’s house cleaning.

While the second son of Rickard Stark was never trained to be lord, nor could he claim to be the sharpest sword in the armory he was not a fool. When he took the head of the latest ‘Buzzard Prince’ or whatever those bandits called themselves, he realized he was making an enemy of House Yronwood. After all the literal bastard had probably been sent to destabilize Martel rule. Most likely the natural son of Edgar Yronwood and the ‘paramour’ Prince Oberyn seduced was only out there to impress his kin. Unfortunately for him Eddard Stark was not impressed by atrocities committed against small folk and The Wall frankly deserved better. At least he had met his end like a man once he realized Ned wouldn’t be moved by threats or promises.

“Don’t let it get to you Ned. The ways of those south of the neck are strange, but I believe the Prince won’t steer us wrong," Howland said in a soothing manner. Eddard turned to his small friend and smiled. The crannog man seemed to have some lost magic that allowed him to pierce into the hearts and thoughts of others. The wolf lord envied his ability hold onto faith in the mission’s success. Of course, the fact Reed was also in love with his sister played a part in his steadfast belief. Howland was perceptive in many things he himself was not, but Ned Stark was not blind or stupid.

Ned replied “It is just the fact Stannis keeps surprising us with something new every week. First it was making me spill my heart out to my brother, then using my relationship with Robert to deal with this Wildfire madness, then this damn seal promoting me to ‘Grand Moff’ and overall commander of forces south of High Garden. He didn’t tell me any of this while we were ‘being honest’ with each other. It doesn’t fill me with trust in his good intentions towards me or my sister.” To be fair the note his black ‘voice’ handed him explaining his lie by omission gave fair explanations. It was just such complicated games were not how The Stark of Winterfell was raised.

The diminutive, but strong lord wagged his finger in his Lord's direction and said “Prince Stannis, do not forget he likes to be called that when discussing official business.” The Winter wolf frowned at his friend’s jape as he was not in the mood for levity. Lord Reed smiled slyly before paraphrasing Prince Stannis and belaying his concerns with sound logic.

“As you know our goal is finding your sister and getting her home alive. Stannis needed your relationship with the king repaired to make it happen. You worrying about wildfire wouldn’t change anything and no one else could be trusted to put Lyanna’s safety first. You are also the most level headed and slow to anger person trustworthy and respected enough to wear that signet." The lord of the neck ticked off two fingers on his left hand.

"Stannis even promoted you over himself so do not try to make this a matter of personal ambition. You know damn well what the words ‘operational security’ and ‘need to know’ mean. Especially since I know we have traitors in our camp." Reed ticked off another finger before making a fist and punching Ned in the arm. It was hard enough to hurt and remind the Lord of the North that Crannogmen should be respected.

"Please don’t act like a spoiled child Ned it doesn’t suit you.” Ned recoiled at his friend’s honest appraisal and realized he was in fact correct.

In any event his mission was coming to a head and if Lord Doran and his ‘new brother’ knew what was good for them they had better not be plying him with false coin. Doran was certainly a schemer without peer, perhaps though Stannis was his at least his equal.

He remembered the days of hospitality that he had to endure in Sunspear and the ‘concert’ Xendo and the priestess/healer Makeda No gave. Then there was the surprise promotion to “Grand Moff”. A signet ring that gifted him with the power of the crown and the ability to remove bastardy with a stamp. There was no way that Prince Stannis didn’t time his ‘salvation’ of the capitol with his arrival in Sunspear; which somehow provided him the royal favor and strength to carry out his goals. So long as the job was done he wouldn’t complain, but even when doing good these Southrons were so devious!

Sunspear  
Prior to shipping out for the Vulture’s Roost

The prince and princess of Dorne were no less surprised by the sudden generous concert and sample gifts. Ned had to admit it was so fun that he honestly couldn’t care about the earlier ‘brinksmanship’ Doran and Oberyn put him through. At least Stannis had prepared him for that surprise and given him a prompt on the correct responses. 

While he knew Xendo was a good musician as well he did not know the priestess Makeda was so multi talented. She got up on the makeshift stage dressed in the most peculiarly provocative dress. It wasn’t so much the skin that was revealed, but it was the shape of her ‘skirt’, leggings and top that were exciting to those who witnessed it. It was cut in a fashion reminiscent of the free cities but it somehow extravagant despite its simplicity. The black ‘suit’ Xendo chose to display and the ostentatious jewelry completed the affect of subtle mystery and grace.

[https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=justin+timberlake+mirrors+cover&&view=detail&mid=C1E9ADE7B1CEC6B0FF7AC1E9ADE7B1CEC6B0FF7A&rvsmid=799B004F418D3BF36D10799B004F418D3BF36D10&FORM=VDQVAP](https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=justin+timberlake+mirrors+cover&&view=detail&mid=C1E9ADE7B1CEC6B0FF7AC1E9ADE7B1CEC6B0FF7A&rvsmid=799B004F418D3BF36D10799B004F418D3BF36D10&FORM=VDQVAP)

It was a strange and eerie beat created by woodwind instruments combined with the ‘turn table’ Stannis introduced. It had a variety of scratching and dragging implements that sounded like nothing Lord Stark or anyone else had heard of before. From his reports the Summer Islanders were also surprised but they were very open to them. Though honestly Ned supposed they would be as they needed his patronage. A dark thought came unbidden that Ned was no less beholden to Prince Stannis even if the reason was different.

As complicated as trying to figure out hidden agendas was becoming the first part was easy enough to decipher. Stannis was implying the Martel’s were just as right to be aggrieved over Elia as the Starks were over Lyanna. More subtly, he seemed to indicate he admired Doran for cleaning up his rash brother’s follies in the same way Ned and Stannis were doing. The shine could also be an allusion to the righteous anger all of them felt and the need for communication.

The backup dancers were telling another visual story in between the beats on various levels of the stage. The theme was an old woman walking across the various stages of a relationship. It would seem that her mate had died recently and she was reflecting on their ups and downs. This part could imply a hidden threat, but honestly that was obvious the minute Ned showed up armed to the teeth. And the appeal to finding a way forward without tragedy slightly reeked of treason, as it was obvious what Dorne wanted and Robert with his storm lander prejudices would likely not be accommodating in any fashion to the Martels’ idea of justice. His best friend, fool king that he was, had a hard time understanding that others could love just as deeply or be just as foolishly rash when unduly provoked.

The dancers were wearing costumes and masks. Each stanza of the song saw a group of them highlighted via “stage lanterns” to visualize the lapse of time in the couples' life. The interpretative dance showed the normal arguments surrounding money issues, friends and what he thought was a lost child. That last one struck home as he remembered Cat at home and prayed for an heir. Benjen was far too sullen as it was already and the though of adding more responsibility on all their heads weighed on him. All of which made Ned pray harder that Stannis knew what he was doing in trying to charm these vipers.

Ned watched Doran as he shifted uncomfortably near his wife who also squirmed a bit. The expressions on their faces changed dramatically. On the surface the performance was about a relationship in dire jeopardy due to poor communication and false assumptions. Eddard was not familiar with Dornish politics, but it would seem their marriage indeed was a case of love at first sight that didn’t mature all that well due to culture shock and not thinking past the infatuation stage.

If Ned didn’t know better Stannis was saying Doran wasn’t all that different from Rhaeagar or any other young noble who knew he found his ‘soul mate’ within six minutes of seeing her. Such an interpretation was only reinforced by watching the ‘couple’ observe a female ‘jouster’ unhorse her partner. A man like Doran or even the more subtle on lookers would pick up on that hint, but it wasn’t obvious enough to be insulting. All the same Doran did cock an eye his way.

On a deeper level the song could very well apply to the relationship between Dorne and the seven kingdoms. Stannis was extremely keen to many things. It was said he could tell you how many men any lord in the seven kingdoms had after going over their records. What he didn’t know was Stannis could do the same with gossip.

On another level Stannis could be rebuking Doran and Oberyn for their hypocrisy and poor treatment of Ned as guest in a polite and skillful way. As intelligence and guile were things the Dornish prince respected this could be considered form of ‘courtship’. The hook of the song could very well be interpreted as an appeal to reason or treason depending on how you looked at it. A promise to provide justice could very well see a vicious row between Lannister and the crown, even if the terms were simply handing over two scapegoats. Ned himself wouldn’t be satisfied with letting Tywin off with a ‘slap on the wrist’ if he got back his sisters mangled violated body. Not to mention and the crushed skull of his nephew and butchered niece. Of course the skill of the stage artists was such that most if not all of the audience overlooked the deeper meanings and simply enjoyed the performance.

By the end of the song most of the audience was singing along and a few were crying. Ned really couldn’t keep track of all the subtly and he was willing to believe that Doran himself might have been confused at some point. Was Prince Stannis saying that he was better informed about the Dornish court than many Dornish? Was he offering marriage advice?

Before the mid point of the concert the Dornish and his own men were dancing. The song “My Hips don’t lie” had that effect, even on him. Ned wouldn’t be surprised if he was asked to use his new legitimization “Grand Moff’ power in the coming months. Especially since the crooner Xendo would be traveling with him. It seemed his Summer Island exile prince wanted an army and was willing to let his retainers raise them using the ‘Walder Frey’ method. Xendo was intelligent and friendly and Ned tried not to judge, especially as his oldest friend Robert was not different. However he did not approve, that simply was not how Eddard's morals operated.

What Ned was certain of was the profound effect the concert had on Doran and his household. According to rumors the married couple apparently did begin the process of ‘open communication’, whether out of a desire to end the gossip or genuine affection he could not say. Though from the way they held hands the latter would be his guess. The juicier gossip had the priestess Makeda involved in a ‘secret discussion’ with them, and considering that relationship advice in the Summer Islands involved sexual religious rites many a tongue was wagging. Eddard also heard there was a furious argument between the brothers partially explaining why Oberyn would not be accompanying Ned's party to the Vulture’s Roost.

It was a bit of mixed blessing as Ned wanted that man where he could see him. Though Oberyn's temperament, justified as it was in this case, wouldn’t be missed. Ned was also glad Makeda would accompany Oberyn and Lady Elaria Uller as he did not want the hassle of her unsolicited 'wisdom'. Finally, Ned didn’t understand why Doran had asked him to make Uller the first beneficiary of his power and to do so in secret, but he gave up trying to understand the Dornish or any Southron many years ago.

Now

Eddard Stark's friend Howland Reed and his outriders brought him to the front of the column. In front of them was their objective. The somewhat anti climatic, run down tower was surrounded by what seemed to be four hundred men. Ned cursed, it seemed that Stannis was wrong and the Kingsgaurd had allied with some Dornish and other loyalist factions. He could see the arms of Hightower, Whent and Dayne. If they had an army supporting them it could only mean one thing, he had a nephew or niece!

Could that be why Doran was shuffling him around? Was this where Oberyn had gone, was Stannis part of a secret coup? Was Doran weighing his options until the last possible minute like Walder Frey? Wasn’t the fact the mad fuck would have burned his sister and kin alive enough to convince him? He stifled his anger and rode out to meet the envoy and got another surprise. Everyone seemed to be in the midst of a great celebration. So it would seem it was a boy then. Having another healthy Targaryen heir would be a cause for them to celebrate.

When Ned got closer the shock almost caused him to fall from his horse. The lilac eyes and raven hair of what many confessed as the loveliest woman in Westeros greeted him warmly.

“Do not be alarmed Lord Eddard everything is well. I hope you are not overly cross with Prince Stannis or Prince Doran. It just there are so many spies around and you know how boys are with their swords or secrets. Follow me and I’ll explain everything, then you and your men can join in the celebration.” Knowing better that to argue with Ashara Dayne he meekly followed his boyhood crush.

They dismounted and walked to a pavilion. Ned was offered lemon aid, orange aid and wine. There were Stannis snacks, so named for anything new and tasty, provided as well. Of course he refused them. He wanted to know what game was being played

“Your sister is alive and in good health. It seems Prince Stannis had more care for her health than Prince Rheagar or his so called Kingsgaurd.” Her voice was raw and he could detect anger. He thought to question about the fate of those three but he was more concerned about meeting Lyanna. Then she spoke again.

“You also have a very healthy and strong nephew. He looks just like his mother by the way. We haven’t named him yet as per Prince Stannis’ direction. The only issue is the little brat is very loud. Then again all princes and lords are somewhat selfish aren’t they?” Her mischievous smile was still exciting.

Ned had stopped listening midway and passed out. Whether it was the shock, heat stroke or just the non chalant way Stannis had wound them up he did not know.

Ashara turned to her brother who helped the lord paramount to his seat. He spoke in a typical 'big brother voice'.

“I don’t believe you actually considered choosing this Stark brother.” From his tone Ned felt he was somewhat salty about how Brandon had treated Ashara. It would seem the possibility of a stillborn bastard daughter were true.

Lady Dayne turned to Ser Arthur and her mood changed as she walked up to her brother.

________________________________________

**Cast**  
Kings landing  
Shortly after the Wildfire Plot is uncovered  
Tunnels   
Sixth Month of 238 AC

“You know its only a matter of time before the frogs find these ones too,” flashed his partner. The complex hand signal signs were easy to see in low light after years doing this in far darker conditions. On his head was one of the relatively new bio luminous helmet lights. Unlike the ones that had been ‘lost’ before, they were home made and thus not traceable. At least that was what they hoped.

The whole operation was nearly blown after the clever bastards had added a chemical that their mini bloodhounds could track.

His companion looked at him with annoyance. Then she flashed him a reply. It’s tone implied it would be the last communication until they reached their goal.

“They don’t seem to care about this part of the city and it doesn’t matter. By the time they figure it out we’ll be long gone. And I like breathing so let’s finish this so we can get paid” She flashed conveying more annoyance with his nervousness. She was right, Bellweather paid on time and if you didn’t fuck up or try and fuck her over she didn’t vanish you.

Bell had once implied that her original boss was somewhat different. ‘Flight’ once indirectly said their current mission was for that bastard. Bell had had a quiet conversation with her and all talk of spiders ceased. Since they were getting a hefty pay day Cast figured it was time to get out of this business for good. He hoped his friend was just as smart, he’d talk to her about it once this was done.

When they reached their destination they turned on their lanterns and soon were greeted by their compatriots and a few others they knew by operational signs. They each knew better than speaking even this far away from the patrols. Soon they reached their destination.

On the floor were boxes, and chests and few very small iron jars that sounded like they had sand inside of them. One group of items went towards the sea and the other went toward the city. Cast did not want to know any more than that


	16. Cully I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Feel free to leave comments. I love feedback.

**Cully**  
Kings Landing  
Day after the King received Maester Cressen and Ser Davos  
King’s Solar, Red Keep  
Sixth Month of 283 AC

The space was getting harder to fit into, but it was alright. Soon the 'nice' man they called Shep would find him and his slightly older sister Margo other work. They had done everything he said and done it right. Unlike Bodan with his sloppy handwriting and bragging ways. When Shep said he got sent to Rosby to be a sewer rat with Oben's bunch he cringed. Yeah there were important jobs to do in the sewers under the castle, but he was an upper floorman! That assignment was for the really clumsy kids who couldn’t stay silent for more than six minutes.

Cully could hold his breath for almost four minutes and hold himself with just his legs squeezing the sides of a wall for two whole turns of the hour glass. He knew because that’s how long he had to wait in the other side of the Red Keep to catch Lord Chelstead talking to himself about telling Tywin of this new madness unless the king relented. He didn’t quite understand what extra madness he meant, but Cull did exactly what Shep said to do when he heard those key words. The little acrobat shimmied down as fast as he could and got word to Linabell the scullery maid. Said slattern us red head did the rest and Shep gave him a whole pie to share with Margo.

Now he was listening to the King talking to some Maester called Cressen. Before Cully got into the ceiling cubby, which didn’t have a peephole for safety forcing him to squint through the cracks. Cully noticed the first man was decked out in black sable and cloth of gold. So was the other balding man who looked something like Shep if he was younger and spent time in the yard. The king was wearing the Baratheon colors as well, but while the king’s clothes certainly cost more the other men somehow looked better. Cully couldn’t place the words, he suspected because he was only three and ten, but it seemed like the others had a purpose that made them look bigger and more 'noble'.

“So is that what my brother calls modesty. Ha! You look like a pair of popinjays,” Robert cried and began laughing at his own joke. The monarch subsided when they didn’t join in the laughter.

In a more subdued tone the oldest Baratheon said “Hhmm, I’m actually glad Stannis finally learned to live a little. Tell me did he actually find a woman to make a man of him yet? I hear he shacked up with a Summer Islander girl with large tracts of land above and below, if you take my meaning?” The younger man laughed weakly in the way adults did when they though Cully was stupid, but they wanted to be nice. The king didn’t get it, but that wasn’t new either.

The man with Cull thought was an anchor pendant on his neck spoke again. “Not to my knowledge my grace, but she does make him smile and laugh. Now, if my king would excuse me I have to see the lord hand about some important business and Maester Cresson would like to speak to you privately.”

Robert dismissed him with a “Fine, but I want details out you later. Cressen over here is too old to still know what we’re talking about. No offense old man.” The maester hrumphed as the other man took a knee before walking away.

The older man spoke in an annoyed manner. “Robert, please know I was the one who taught you about the birds and dogs. And speaking of them, tell me the rumors about you are exaggerated” Robert laughed again.

“Depends on which ones and who’s asking?” replied the king. When the maester did not respond he sat and sighed.

“It is has been stressful and the wine helps. Yes I even bed a wench every so often and at least they come to my bed willingly unlike that bastard.” Robert had been insulting the late prince Rheagar every day for no fewer than forty minutes total. The not so little bird knew cause he averaged it up with the sand glass.

“Robert, Stannis and Eddard send you these," came the older mans' reply. The king made the motions and Cully heard the sound of unfolding paper.

“So is Lord Stark writing to say how disappointed he is in my ‘bloodlust’? Did he get Stannis to join him in wagging a sanctimonious finger my way. I am almost tempted to write them both and explain in simple words the meaning of survival. Better yet, I will make Lord Arryn do it, he is the hand after all. Hahahahha!” replied the King of Seven Kingdoms, his mirth echoing down the hall. This time the maester did snicker and then he spoke in supplication.

“I know you have not changed much my son, and that can not continue. Just read the letters with an open heart and mind. Can you do that for me?” The king paused and he couldn’t hear anything.

“You raised me as well as I deserved, better even. I know I was a handful and some. Yes I’ll hear them out. They are fighting a bloody war for me after all,” replied the Demon of the Trident. There was more folding of papers. Then a long silence, followed by some swearwords Cully wouldn’t use in the worst parts of flea bottom. In fact if he tried some septon would set his bottom on fire for the better part of a week.

Then there was a silence and a sound he never heard from Robert Baratheon. The man was actually crying.

“They say she fought those squires over a crannogman?” asked the king in a sorrowful voice.

The elder voice was steady but his tone held no reproach. “He was her father's liege man and no one else would do anything about the injustice.”

“So why didn’t she just tell her father. I’m sure he would have tanned their hides and then gone after their no account knights? It was dangerous.." The master cut off Robert's tirade to Cully's surprise. Whoever the old man was he had balls.

“Many people could have done something about the injustice. Brandon could have stepped in and he was capable, but he was focused on other issues. Benjen and Ned probably would have called on lord Stark, as they were too young for the tourney. However, it was likely Ned would not have acted publicly in the presence of the mad king. As no one wanted his eye on them. Lyanna wanted to make a very public example of those miscreants. That is the kind of person she is.”

“And I never noticed where she was because I was looking at other things," came Robert sorrowful voice. The maester hrumped again.

Robert's voice raised in anger but his tone implied defeat acceptance of the older mans reproach. “Alright I was chasing a tavern girl the night before and I was too drunk to remember. She risked her life in front of Aerys and the lot for someone she didn’t even know. All I saw as a pretty face.” He was making those sobbing sounds. But this time the other man stepped closer to him.

“Rheagar, he saw what she was worth and he took her from us," said the king. Robert stopped crying and his voice became hard again.

This time it was the master whose one roared with rage. “None of that Robert. You killed Rheagar on the trident. Now it is time to face the enemy within. Until you defeat the beast inside of you will never be the king she deserves, be the king the realm deserves and become the man you deserve to see in the mirror.”

The king stopped his angry growl mid sentence and he paused. In a small tired voice Robert Baratheon spoke again.

“What Stannis said about how he felt watching Renly waste away in front him. I can’t imagine what I wouldn’t do to make that stop.”

The old man continued his ballsy conversation. “So you understand why he can empathize with Doran and Rhealla?” The king growled but subsided before a tirade could explode. Instead Cully saw and heard the giant black haired bear deflate.

“And why Ned was so disappointed in me. I wouldn’t want someone like that marrying my sister either. It’s just them damn Dragons have taken so much from me. First my parents, then Lyanna and now Ned..” Roberts self pity was interrupted by the Measter yet again. But this time the old man's voice was oddly comforting even though he pulled no punches.

“Did Prince Rheagar’s songs excite you to get randy with that tavern girl at Harrenhal instead of properly wooing Lyanna? Did the ghost of mad king Aerys make you behave like a jackass in front of half the court? Are you blaming your Targaryen grandmother for raising from the grave and making you insult the friend who almost drowned to save you at Stony Sept? And I would like to know which dragon shade forced you into eating a peach? Exactly what would you have done to the man embarrassing your sister so for all the realm to see?” The king took a deep breathe and said nothing as his foster father laid into him and a smack was heard.

The old mans' voice raised dramatically into a crescendo “What have I taught you Robert? What has Lord Jon done his best to beat into your thick head?” Cresen’s voice was booming and for a moment the not quite man believed he was about to witness a murder. No one spoke to a king like that, let alone one with Robert’s temper. Then the king answered in a sullen voice.

“Take responsibility for my own actions because being in command means accepting both the praise and the blame. It.. It is just that I have spent so much time not dealing with the fact I can't keep putting off responsibility. All the wine, and the women.. I know I can’t keep doing it forever.” Cully almost fell down when he heard the king actually admit defeat. Who was this old man? He would have to find out from the bird on the other floor. In his opinion the maester deserved a statue and song.

The old man then put his arms around the king before speaking to him in the way a septon, one of the good kind, did hurt children. “Yes, I know how you feel. Believe it or not I too once sowed my wild oats before I put this bastard of a chain around my neck. But there comes a time to grow up. A wise man once said. When I was a child I thought as a child and behaved as a child. When I became a man I put away childish things.”

Robert's voice sounded as though he was close to tears again. “I don’t know how to change like that and I..I am afraid I will disappoint her, and Ned and Renly and you. Hell even Stannis.” The unmistakable sound of a man hugging another could be heard a mile away.

“Robert, you three are the sons I never got to raise in my life. As long as any of us live we are a family that will never let you face a challenge without our support. And that includes Ned and Lyanna once we get her back." The maester than cupped Roberts face in either hand and somehow forced him to make eye contact.

"Have faith in your brothers. If they say they will return her and add another army to your cause in less than five months believe them.” Robert laughed again.

The kings spirit returned and he sounded like himself again. “Ned is too honorable to lie and Stannis is too stiff to be late!” Cressen laughed with him.

“Well it seems you can get something through that thick skull of yours after all," was what the old man said next in a humorous voice.

The king straightened up and stood proud. It was like watching a new man. “I will go talk to Jon once I straighten up around here. The two of you will have to explain to me just what the hell happened to Ned to make him spill that secret and how the hell Stannis could feel an emotion other than bitterness.”

Cully found himself in shock, but he was present enough to realize he needed to see what the king was going to say to the hand. This was his floor after all and Shep was counting on him.

Fourteen hours thirty minutes later.  
Hidden alcove in Flea Bottom

Cully had jotted down the notes as best he could as he prepared to listen in on King Robert’s meeting with the hand. Though fate made it a bit unnecessary to rush his writing as unlike the king, Jon Arryn didn’t burn the letter he was given after reading it. The meat of the argument/meeting was simple. Jon Arryn wanted to stop as many ‘chaotic’ and ‘destabilizing’ influences as possible as the Baratheon dynasty was not yet firmly established. Prince Stannis was pushing for reforms aimed at improving competence and efficiency. For some reason the hand though those two goals might clash.

The growing bird was sitting in front of Shep and some lady he called Bellweather. She was wearing a cloak and leathers but Shep and some of the older ones had taught him how to see what ‘was really there’. That skill had kept him alive more than once and even though the woman with the ram mask was good at keeping her gait even, women and men were usually so different in body type it was impossible to hide for more than few minutes. That’s if the person looking had the right skills.

The somewhat less rotund man said “There were a few things that Lord Jon did agree with. Namely forcing the reach to provide food subsidies to the Iron Islands and ‘encourage’ the High Towers to provide competent instructors lead by Archmaester Marywn to the capitol to help develop a core of competent clerks for various tasks. The other institutes, excluding the King’s landing war college and Westland’s mineral extraction ‘university’ were tabled until they could yell at Stannis face to face. At that point they agreed that having Mace under wraps was a sound strategy at least in the short term, especially with the possible threat of foreign invasion the Prince mentioned.” Shep sounded a bit more animated than he usually did while putting his own words to Cully and the others’ whispers. Cully was proud that he alone got to be here. He might even get to go with Bellweather. Those stairs would soon be too small for him to fit in without making noise and he could swear he heard more rats than before. Some of them sewer ones was mean enough to try them even with a light and knife in hand.

Bellweather replied merely echoing a different part of the report. It was some logic technique Shep said he would teach Cully one day. Something about hearing the message from more than one mouth makes it easier to understand.

“They also cleared whatever expense he required in order to finish the fleet and bring the war to a speedy close. Which lead to their final major agreement; a revamp of the military system based on practical reality. Since there were four principle members of the Stab Alliance they should each control a major segment of the army. Stannis suggested the title Grand Moff, and for some reason the king had a weird smile whenever he said it.” Shep tittered at his own humor and gave a rare smile.

“Likely because it sounds like homonym for his favorite part of human anatomy. At least human female anatomy,” said Bellweather before snickering herself.

Shep shook his head before continuing “Leave it to Robert to combine wenching with statescraft. But please don’t give my new flockmate new naughty words.” At that Cully decided he had to know what a Moff had to due with cunts, as everyone knew what Robert liked to do when he had the chance. It would be something he would learn later. He heard that Bellweather valued intelligence, as long as you knew when not to ask questions. Them stupid ones or the greedy, well they say lots of strange meat winds up in a bowl o brown. Bell continued after patting the boy on the head.

“Said Grand Moff powers were beneath that of the Hand but above those all other officers. In addition to military command each person held a seal granting the authority to form self regulating knightly order, charter cities of a certain size, legitimize anyone save to the position of the king’s son or daughter and make and sign treaties with foreign lands up to a certain value of ‘GDP’. Further they were not all equal but ranked according to the King’s favor. Surprisingly Stannis suggested they rank the lords Lord Jon Arryn, Lord Ned Stark, Lord Stannis and Lord Tully. This was commented on by the King who seemed a bit ashamed after thinking about it.” Shep, who Cully was old enough to know was somehow really Varys, Master of Whispers smiled at him.

“And how do you know the king was ashamed?” Cully took a moment to answer the question with intelligence. Gut feelings were ok if they helped you form a logical answer but a hunch was not a substitute for good spy craft. Fortunately Cully had prepared an answer in advance just like Shep taught him.

“Well sir, he sounded like how I and my sister did after we got caught doing something bad. The king even had the same face my brother did right before he got the switch. That was afore he died of the pox o course.” His new immediate supervisor smiled. Her mask only covered the upper 3/4ths of her face and based on the bits of 'truth seeing' he learned the twinkle in her eyes was real humor.

“It would seem that Stannis managed to achieve rapprochement," was all Bellweather said.

Cully still didn’t know what that word meant but he guessed it meant the King, Ned Stark and his brother liked each other again. Cully also wasn’t able to find out the king’s ultimate decision on the rankings, but he was fairly certain that the title Grand Moff would in fact become fact. Having had enough excitement for one day the bird slid into the tunnels that would link him to his ‘nest’. There was one piece of ‘intelligence’ that he knew couldn’t wait. The king's brother was introducing ‘frogs’ to map out and secure the tunnels of the castle to prevent unauthorized access. Said crannogmen and others would answer directly to the hand. Said hand realized just how much Rhaalla would want the king and his household dead and agreed to the idea without debate.

The masked woman then asked “So you really think the man is some kind of wizard or another prophesy seeker?”

“It is one possibility. Yes, I know anyone could have pieced together the secret of the knight of the laughing tree with motivation, but all the new and frankly radical proposals?, the new inventions, this soulful music that stirs the emotions?” asked Shep with a flourish of his hands. Bellweather laughed with a snort. She was the only person he knew that dared to laugh at Lord Varys. Then she replied in a stern but distant manner.

“I think you are letting your feelings get in the way. As the man said competence tests are a thing in Essos and I seriously doubt water pipes and intestine based condoms are magic! While the faith might not like the idea of cheap preventative contraceptives his ideas and tools decreasing infant mortality are common sense even if they are inspired.” Cully could see Shep's face twist in ways that he couldn’t understand.

Then Varys spoke the words that ended the discussion and made a new fate for him and his sister.

“I think we can both agree he bears extensive watching. In any event we will finish this discussion later. Thank you my dear Cully for this information and for informing me of the new infestation of rats coming from the sewers. I’ll have the kings raters deal with them."

"You are now being advanced to Bellweather’s group. Be diligent and you may one day sit where she does.” Then Shep offered him a drink before turning to Bellweather and giving her a purposeful look. Cully knew it was dosed with something to make him sleep so that he would not remember where he traveled. It was security against infiltrators. Cully wasn’t stupid despite his age though. He trusted that his usefulness would keep him alive and working for the king, no matter how dangerous was better than being another homeless orphan.

He pretended to be affected early and slumped down to hear what little he hoped they would let slip. The last thing he remembered was hearing Shep.

“I’ll leave you to decide how many rings the circle should collapse on your end and how best to go about it. Just remember we don’t know the capabilities of these frogs or just how much influence Stannis has with Robert."

"I will make sure we have no leaks from the castle. If you wish to avoid the fate of Peregrine you will do what is necessary without hesitation.”

Bellweather ended the conversation.”That’s fair. But this is my operation Spider and in case you have forgotten Tywin’s style of doing things has its own drawbacks that have little to do with sentimentality.”


	17. Davos IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to comment.

**Ser Davos**

Knight in Service to Prince Stannis

High Table, Celebration Feast  
Shortly after the exposure of the Wildfire Plot  
Kings Landing  
Eighth Month of 283 AC

  
Lord Arryn spoke in his deceptively genial manner.“I am sorry that you and Maester Cressen have to leave so soon, but I understand that matters of state wait for no one. I trust you will convey our deep thanks to Prince Stannis when you see him next.” The Onion Knight nodded at the hand and he took another, measure sip of his wine. Not that he believed it would be poisoned, but he was thrice warned to keep a level head in the presence of the hand and master of whispers.

“I must admit I truly did miss home, yet I find that I’ve had a mite too much adventure..” The king cut Ser Davos off.

“And returning to the war is a lot fucking safer, eh? At least the sea won’t explode into green fire and burn your cock off,” said the Demon of the Trident. Then his powerful frame erupted into laughter and while the joke wasn’t that funny Rorbert Baratheon's good spirit provoked a few chuckles from the assembled nobles and courtiers.

To his left sat Lord Bonnifer ‘Ever’ Hasty, another one of Stannis’s ‘special orders’ knights. The aging godsworn knight was so named and promoted because he led a group of knights and watchmen to prevent one of the three ‘accidents’ from becoming a conflagration. Hasty's new castle cost him a bit of the skin on his right side from a contact flash, but the pious man was otherwise alright and would soon set off on his second ‘secret mission’. On Davos' right was a far less savory companion in the form of the perfumed Eunuch. Fortunately for his nose Varys was not as bad as the ‘traditionalist’ lords who refused to avail themselves of the new showers and other ‘hygiene’ improvements in protest. It was just the combination of his lavender and the musk of some of the men further down was unbearable. Davos was just glad the king made hand washing and disinfecting food preparation areas among the serving staff mandatory. Seaworth remembered the mold and grime cultures Stannis made him witness and a shudder ran though the old salt when thinking about exactly what he had been eating all his life.

Of course, even the new methods' greatest opponents usually didn’t take their protests so far and Lord Arryn actually appreciated the gifts of his ‘tooth brush’, breath mints and the handsome set of false teeth. The aging hand wisely saw the benefit they presented in improving his image and relationship with his young and rather handsome wife. Of course Arryn drew a line at dying his hair and showed a rather wise skepticism of the unproven ‘dentistry’ arts Stannis implied could permanently implant teeth. While Davos could appreciate some of the reluctance to rapid change the knight of onion's brief time at Storm’s end had given him, his children, Renly and Cressen a newfound sensitivity to the stink of unwashed bodies. Especially those that tried to mask it with perfumes and oils. Try as he might, Davos would never get used to Kings Landing again.

Varys must have noticed his discomfort because he spoke to Davos in a voice dripping in false sympathy. “I sincerely hope you can get through the meal without becoming sick. You’ve made such a good impression on the court and it would be a shame to ruin it over such a minor matter.” The tittering of the fat man next to him was beginning to grate on his nerves. That the eunuch's words were true did nothing to make them more palatable. Worse Jon Arryn picked up the conversation and added his two groats.

“Such unintended consequences of ‘progress’ can far more harmful than an upset stomach. Restricting the application of knowledge might reduce income, but has Stannis thought out how ‘labor’ will feel when they had less work because a ‘machine’ can do it faster or cheaper?” Those were good questions, ones he had asked Stannis himself. Which is why Davos was glad he and Stannis had gone over such replies.

He then described what Ned and the Kings brother had shared regarding their concerns.

Almost a month and a half ago before today  
Storms End  
Solar of Stannis Baratheon

They had just finished showering after a vigorous bout with shield and sword. Now the gathered Stormlanders and various 'guests' were sharing slices of what the prince called pizza and discussing politics and economics. It was a lesson that Stark and his north men sat in on. There seemed to be no end to the talents of the second Baratheon and the influx of reach supplies meant he could make so many more delicious foods.

The Prince began the conversation as he was usually wont to do. “So does anyone want to share their concerns about some of my new projects. Remember this is a place for truth, as long as you remember to express respect for your opponent and his ideas you can say what you wish. Otherwise council meetings are nothing but another bath for the one presiding.” Which was a polite way for saying an arse kissing contest.

Lord Stark immediately started, his strong voice replying without mirth at the somewhat crass joke.

“I can understand why being clean helps and I appreciate the idea of a ‘mechanical’ reaper but how is taking away jobs going to stop peasants from revolting?” Stannis allowed Davos to field that answer.

“From what I can see the point of increasing food production isn’t to take away farm jobs. The extra food can be stored or sold abroad, which will increase the total domestic market as well. People would have more ability to get the things they want and need. The increased supply would fuel demand and create more not less jobs. Not to mention semi skilled and skilled labor would become more dependant on the monopoly holders.” Lord Reed was quick on the uptake, smiled his devious grin and commented.

“That would be the noble class Lord Eddard.” Stannis coughed and raised his hand.

“More specifically that would be the noble class members allied with the crown,” the prince clarified. Each of them present laughed then.

The next one to raise a question was Mace Tyrell. Even though he wasn’t allowed in the war room at that time, it would be petty to exclude him from all gatherings of the higher lords. Besides as the Lord of High Garden was someone less disregarding of trade, Stannis felt he had competency which could be tapped in such a discussion.

“I have never claimed to be the smartest of my siblings, lord knows my mother says so often enough but it also seems imprudent to ‘flood’ the market with cheap goods when people do not have the money to pay for them. That is if your proposed methods and tools work as advertised.” The increasingly fit and jovial lord gave Stannis a sly smile, as if he knew more than he let on. Davos had cleared his throat and the prince allowed him to respond.

Illiterate did not mean incapable of using sound reasoning, and few people were sharper than a smuggler. Especially when it came to haggling and trading coin, illicit or otherwise.

“My lord paramount Tyrell, as I have come to reckon money doesn’t really exist. We say a gold dragon is worth say 120 groats and a four groats are worth one hen’s egg. However, what does that mean? Is a piece of gold really equal to so many eggs? Do the people in Flea Bottom agree with Suns Spear as to the ‘real’ value of a cow?” The not so stupid lord replied to Davos' question with a well reasoned response.

“Yes Ser Davos. I take your meaning. The value of any coin depends on what people are willing to pay, but there is only so much gold and I know most lords are not willing to put it in the hands of social lesser. No offence intended my good man.” Davos snorted before speaking again.

“None taken, but what about other forms of currency? Silver and even Iron or tin are sometimes used as coin. Even notes with the proper safe guards against counterfeiting and backed up by credible institutions can solve those issues.” Mace became somewhat enthralled at that. His voice took on a combination of awe and constipation.

“So you want to open a bank and other ‘institutions’? You will need the king’s blessing and lord knows how he feels about ‘counting coppers’. No offense meant.” Of course with his current imprisonment, that was likely not true. The prince however laughed and added his opinion on the topic.

“You mean to say my brother has trouble counting past ten without using his fingers.” At that point Ned Stark laughed. So did Stannis, which allowed the rest to join in. After raising a hand for silence the Prince expanded on his idea.

“But seriously, the lack of sound financial management is why our people are suffering like this. In Essos they can build a city with twice as many people in an area with will less space and they don’t have half as many deadly outbreaks. Do you know why that is? Its because they can afford proper sewers, medical care and have enough food."

"Part of that is they don’t pay their workers. The lion share of their success is that people have confidence in their currency. Gold coins have value depending on weight, yes. But the reason you will accept a gold dragon is worth four gold bagars is because you believe that King Robert’s kingdom is stronger than some nameless shit hole even if the two coins are practically identical. Its why money changers are as rich as they are. Well, that and they are crooked fuckers.” Mace bowed and laughed. Then the rose lord smiled before getting at what Stannis was really implying.

“That they are. I read what you proposed. Not only do you want to create a ‘financial market’ and ‘national’ bank you want to regulate it with strict accountability and some kind of money police.” Stannis raised his hands to forestall the gasps of Ned and his lords. Howland wasn't surprised as it seemed he was the only one to actually read the missive the King handed out. Not that Davos blamed him 'counting coppers' was not a past time many lords considered important after all. Stannis then sighed and spoke in the voice parents have used for dealing with stubborn children since the Age of Heroes.

“Again many nobles don’t like doing the ‘less fun’ parts of ruling like making sure the peasants they are too busy beating senseless for petty insults aren’t robbing them blind because they can’t count past nine. Yes some would tell you not being able to read is manly. But not knowing how to effectively run a campaign yourself because the map in front of you might as well be high veleryian is just stupid."

"Yes we need a ‘money police’ we also need an efficient court system, and a functional honest constabulary capable of using investigative techniques. The heart of any functioning society is an enforceable, practical set of laws governing commerce, trade and social interactions. Without that we just have people with swords and high titles doing whatever they want whenever they want to anyone they think they can defeat in a fight."

"Oh it sounds like fun at first, but I don’t think Aery’s is laughing anymore, do you?”

Now  
Kings landing

  
There was uneasy laughter as Davos finished his anecdote. Davos was glad he developed such a good memory over the course of his life, because he was doing a lot of complex tasks recently. It was nothing compared to Makeda or some of the other summer islanders, but then again theirs was a culture that prided itself on preserving knowledge orally. Still a smuggler who forgot a pass word or the weight of a shipment was soon a dead smuggler. Davos’ thirty plus years of age and three thousand dragons of debt proved his bona fides.

The Eunuch spoke again, his tittering voice less cocksure than before. Jon Arryn seemingly opted to fall back, leaving the spider alone on the battle field.

“While that lesson was entertaining and pertinent Ser Davos, I should like to point out that we have a war to fight and the sweeping reforms that our diligent prince suggests with such passion are just not possible now. And once the war is over will be hard pressed keeping our current ‘infrastructure’ functional let alone fixing the damage. It is just not reasonable to attempt and we should stick with what has worked for centuries.” There were some assents in the crowd. Though the wiser members of the traditionalists could sense the trap.

The king had been drinking somewhat, but was more than a bit unpleased with the master of whispers. He put his goblet down and spoke with a commanding yet restrained tone.

“Yes my brother Stannis is full of impractical, strange and dangerous ideas. Like mixing rum with boiled water to keep the flux out of Flea Bottom.” Which was something Stannis knew would resonate immediately with his brother, even though he was actually drinking less consistently. And his drinks were considerably more watered down than usual. Robert's voice now was increasingly harsh, despite the slightly slurred words Robert was quite sober enough to reason.

“Man’s not saying to make the lowborn equal to anyone. Alls he wants is to keep the stupid arseholes in check so they don’t fuck up everything. Well so long as I’m king o these seven kingdoms I say arses will meet my boot!"

"Ser Davos, get started on my investigation buero bureau whatever. I know you won’t take a lordship from any but Stannis, but you will take 4000 gold dragons. Yes I know you won’t steal from me. Whatever you can’t use right now take back to my brother and tell him to get that fleet in the water."

"And grow your goddam hair back. I have to look at one ugly bald cunt and that’s more than enough. You hear me?” The kings eyes burned into Davos and he could see the man was still fairly lucid. The knight of Onions took a knee quickly. 

Wisely all he said was “Aye mi grace."

Then the Demon of the Trident turned his fierce eyes on the Master of Whispers. His voice dropped any pretense of amiability when he spoke. “And as for you over there. Since you think my brother is over exerting himself, perhaps you should give his ‘routine’ a try for the next five months. Then you can tell me if its too stressful on the mind and body.” Varys took a knee just quickly, but when he moved to retake his seat the king the spider found the king was not finished with him. Or rather Robert was tired of his presence for he spoke in a louder voice.

“You can go and get warmed up now Lord Varys.” The Eunuch left to the sound of snickers. Round two went to him, yet for some reason, Davos wasn’t quite sure he should celebrate.  



	18. Ser Bonnifer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wondered why you needed high tech to have CSI/mod squad stuff. Hope you enjoy the chapter. Don't forget to comment.

**Ser Bonifer Hasty**  
Pisswater Bend, Flea Bottom Kings’ Landing  
A few days after Black Betha made port  
Sixth Month of 283 AC

  
Ser Davos’ ‘intelligence’ was confirmed by Leemon Bogg and his cousins shortly after their arrival. The crannog men, Leyton and Harlen Bogg looked close enough alike to be brothers, if not twins. Though to be fair, with how isolated and insular they were as a people such was to be expected. The aging Stormlander knight suspected the Boggs he met shared a lot fewer grandparents than the bloodline of his first and only love.

Ser Hasty narrowed his eyes, adjusting for the shade and reduced light in the more cramped alleyway. Further thoughts of his lost love and the horrors she endured with her beast of a brother were stomped down. There was no point in wasting wroth, not when a perfectly valid target was nearby. A moment later one of the Boggs, the taller one with his braided hair parted to the left spoke in an almost whisper.

“See, they are held up in the next house. Eight men including the beast, two dozen customers, three ‘contestants’, eight dogs and four women upstairs.” The way Harlen pronounced ‘women’ and ‘contestants’ let Bonifer know at least one of them wasn’t past the age of flowering and none were being treated properly; even by Flea Bottom standards. Swallowing rage the knight reached into his pocket and blew on the whistle, alerting his men to lock the street down.

Strutting boldly, with his best Davos taught ‘Flea bottom swag’, Hasty and company closed in on the ‘Ragged Ear’. Said establishment was where the ‘man’ Rorge carried out his dog and bear fighting, with the occasional bit of prostitution upstairs. While such businesses operating along across this corner of the city were not new or out of place; the fact that Rorge treated his ‘employees’ with less concern than his dogs earned today’s royal visit.

As Ser Bonifer neared the door he only saw two of his men at arms, both good seven fearing storm landers like himself and numbers seventy three and eighty one of his proposed holy hundred (though he only had eighty four so far). The crannog men had vanished, but none of them were concerned because the Boggs would show up where they needed to be when it mattered. Those so called ‘bog devils’ did not fight as knights, but Bonifer knew them to have their own kind of honor. The counter whistle sounded and the large dog near him made its non verbal signal in response. The godly knight blew one more note, pulled on the helmet hidden behind the loose hood and things got loud.

The door flew in behind his boot, as its heavy bars had not been engaged.

“In the name of King Robert everyone here shall surrender!” cried the most famous knight of house Hasty, though he honestly hoped they would not listen. The unwashed lout with a club and scar splitting his face either contemplated too long or was addled with drink. Which is why Ser Bonnifer’s padded mace bounced off his skull and the man hit the chairs to his right. Said fool was out cold before he flipped over and landed on an overturned table.

“Shyte! It’s a raid. Head out the back!” came from someone further back in the smoke filled den of human and animal misery. Bonifer shook his head as his fighting spirit soared. They had men on the nearby roofs, and the ‘secret’ entrances were just as covered. The fools just couldn’t understand it was Stannis, not the incompetents in the gold cloaks carrying out this operation. While Ser Bonnifer didn’t agree with all that his lord did; his making lewd music and spending time with such licentious foreigners being the most obvious, stopping such evil practices more than made up for it.

A group of betters or johns tried to push their way through the side entrance only to find a particularly irritating powder dumped on them from a shadow over their heads. Yes, not very knightly, these crannog men, but people who would place bets on children fighting pit bulls and bears would never receive pity from Ser Bonifer. He should rather give them an tatste of hempen rope!

Ser Bonifer then sidestepped a brute who attempted to slash him with a short sword. Even in the poorly lit hell pit, the fool should have seen he was wearing full plate. But his desperate bid to avoid harsh judgment was cut short as the knight stepped into a feeble stab and drove his mace up between the varlet’s legs. By the time he was done subduing the next three fleeing customers the ‘fight’ was over.

Of course no raid was perfect and Rorge walked out of a side room with his knife held to the throat of one “contestant”. The small child made no sound and his eyes betrayed no fear or any emotion at all.

“Look here you bastards! I don’t know who da fook you thinks you is. But if’n you don’t get outta my place right now I’ll gut this git right now” the scarred and hairy thug bellowed. When he met Ser Bonnifer’s eyes the bastard spoke again.

“Try me. and see what happens to sweet meat here!" There was no humanity in that man Ser Hasty could detect in either word or deed.

Having planned for this kind of situation Ser Bonifer Hasty put his bloody mace down. The knight motioned for the others to do the same and everyone near the brute took a step back.

“Rorge I presume?” The nose less man was slightly below average height but built like a brick oven. Muscles rippled up and down his body and he was currently shirtless. It was said those fists had killed men in and out of rings all over Kings landing.

“Ya, who fuck’r you lot? Whyda bust in my place. ‘el id Rondel send you to lean on me?” His knife momentarly left the child’s throat as Bonifer was told it would. Ser Bonifter played along by shaking his helmeted head. The effect was instant.

“That cunt! Well you tell the bastard it’ll be a cold da..” Rorge didn't didn’t get to finish as a small arrow planted itself in his hand. As soon as the knife fell from his fingers Ser Bonnifer was on him. To his credit the first five blows from the knight did not put the man on the floor. Rorge even got in two punches himself. Of course only one of them was wearing plate armor so it was obvious who that hurt.

“Move Bonny, we want him alive.” Reluctantly, Ser Hasty moved to his left as Leeman Bogg and his men brought out the strange pole arms with the large U’s at the front. It took another few minutes to get Rorge and the rest bound and ready for transport. The child, if that poor living thing could still be a child continued staring at him without making any sound. Bonifer reached down into his pouch and offered him a piece of jerky. The bald boy, who might have been two and ten tore into it like a dog in the fighting pit. To the horror of Ser Hasty and his men the child’s teeth had been filed into points. His rough, scarred body and face were not the worst of his mutilations either. For as he looked at the next offering of food he made a shrill hiss, and everyone realized the child had no tongue.

Ser Bonifer had to stop his men from setting the building on fire with the adult occupants inside. He even had to restrain himself from opening Rorge’s throat with the dagger he dropped. Hasty thought he knew what evil was, then he learned of Aerys. Now yet again Prince Stannis proved to him his understanding of the cruelty of men was non existent. Yes, sexually risqué entertainment and premarital sex were sinful, but truly religious men of arms should take the battle to real evils like this. Defending holy septs and travelers to shrines was good work, holy work but showing people that even those who are imperfect must still be treated as men was no less a higher calling.

The graying knight saluted his men as they guided the women and children to a covered wagon bound for a the Sept of Baelor. The rest would spend some time in the ‘black cells’. Sir Hasty was sorry that they had been ordered revamped to prevent the spread of disease and filth. Some people would not be missed if they should succumb to the filth of their own excrement. No not one of them be missed.


	19. Davos V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we have Davos confronting the Spider. A few key elements are revealed here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hesitate to leave constructive criticism.

**Davos**  
Gray Cells, Red Keep  
Kings Landing  
A few days after the dinner celebrating the heroes of the Wildfire exposure  
Seventh Month of 283 AC

The powdered man to his left spoke. Davos was glad that Varys wasn’t one of the more extreme traditionalists and opted to have a private shower made for himself after starting his exercise routine. In close quarters the smell could choke him otherwise. The former smuggler wondered how he never had the idea of using salt water showers and toilets before. They really made the journey to and life in king’s landing much more bearable. He knew that the aging master to his left felt the same way as Cresson had voiced the opinion more than once. O' course the greybeard used a lot more high falluting words than the simple salt Davos was and would forever be in his heart no matter how far he climbed out of Flea Bottom.

“Yes quite a tragedy. The man had a new wife and five children. Not to mention his wife will soon be in need of both swaddling and mourning clothes.” The fact the eunuch's concerned tone and pensive facial expression did not match the coldness of his purple eyes made the re-growing hair on Davos’ scalp itch. The Eunuch’s hands remained folded in his robes as the stoic soon to be ex Master of Whispers considered the corpse before them. There was no one else that he could see nearby and Davos prudently placed a hand near, but not grasping at, the short sword he wore indoors. Almost on reflex Davos placed himself between Varys and his tutor. For his part the elder master took a step backward and allowed his right hand to drop slowly, the short dagger Stannis made his maester practice with not far out of reach.

“From what I hear Norman Oats was a fairly good tanner when he wasn’t drunk. It seems he just couldn’t stand captivity. Course, I wouldn’t worry too much about his family. Seems some generous soul covered his outstanding debts. Even left a tidy sum with the widow. The older boys can keep up the family business, seeing as how they each lack their father’s vices.” said Ser Davos as he eyed the less rotund man. Varys reacted with exaggerated disinterest but seemed to make no indication he intended to move any closer to them.

Yes Davos could yell for help or blow his whistle, but honestly the newly made knight would rather simply run his sword through chubby perfumed man. Even if he was a mummer in somewhat better shape; at this distance Davos was fairly confident he could impale him without getting a scratch from a poisoned dagger. But the Onion Knight would follow Stannis’ orders and not kill the fucker unless he posed 'a clear a present danger'. Stannis clearly said "You are of little use to me on the wall at this time and he isn’t worth it."

He had called in Maester Cressen to look over the dead man as it always helped to have an extra set of eyes and hands while solving a mystery. Said corpse was still hanging in his cell by the neck. The bed sheets were tied around the bars in Norman’s overhead window. He had the Boggs go over the room and it was clearly a suicide, a conclusion the master quickly confirmed. However, why would a man whose crime was merely a few coppers of dice fraud go to this extent? More importantly why would he wait until now to do so?

Stannis’ warrant said the man was possible witness to an event of import and should be taken into ‘comfortable protective custody’. After the wildfire and Rorge’s shop of horrors no one bothered to question the warrant. After all Stannis didn’t kill innocent people and if he was proven innocent with logical evidence Stannis was the type to pay him for the trouble. Of course going, back quite a few things didn’t add up and he remembered the ‘warrant’.

  
Said individual is at least twenty years old, but is likely over thirty five and has lived in Flea bottom for at least two years. For a certainty he lived in Pisswater Bend during the siege and had at least two children each of whom is older than two years of age. His wife must have died giving birth to a living boy, who lived yet vanished sometimes toward the middle of the year. It is believed he is a tanner with a predisposition to drink and or gambling. The only other thing that is known for sure is that the dead wife or him have blue eyes that were almost purple and pale hair.

  
“It would seem my dear onion knight we are at an impasse," said the purple eyed intelligencer.

The Eunuch’s eyes narrowed at Davos again and Davos resisted the urge to reach for one of his blades. Vary undoubtedly had at least a few on himself and Davos wanted to see his wife and children again. On further thought fat men had natural armor and Davis cursed himself for not wearing his coat of plates today.

What the knight did say was “I don’t see why. Aint we on the same side? We both serve the realm." Those were the words Stannis had told him to say in such a situation. A few scant months were not enough time to prepare for a job like this and Davos realized how much weight was involved. Varys tittered again.

“I wonder if you know who and what you truly serve,” was Varys' reply. The was a silent shudder in Davos' spine as he digested the words. There could be no way that the spider had penetrated that deeply in to Storms End. But he rallied none the less, whatever secrets Stannis held to himself the Lord of Storms End was transparent enough for him to trust. Seaworth believed his lord was a good man and said as much. 

“I serve a man who cares about justice Lord Varys. Whatever you may think gambling fraud doesn’t justify murder. Especially for a debt less than thirty coppers.”

Varys chuckled lightly and said “So the 'Just Stone' did not trust you with the ‘whole truth’ then. Norman here did something worthy of worse than death almost a year ago and many more things prior and after. That is more truth than I warrant Stannis believed you needed to complete your task. I’ll leave finding the details up to you and your ‘investigators’. Furthermore he met his end by his own hands, so this is in fact a suicide not a homicide. I trust your tutor beside you will help you understand the difference before too long.” He tittered before moving and sitting in one of he guard's chairs.

Which is when Maester Cressen involved himself in the conversation. “Heh, I think you practice operational security in a much more thorough and final way if you take my meaning. The prince is loyal to his brother, the crown and Westeros. Can we say the same of you?”

“Hahaha. Touche good Maestor Cressen, or should I say Leobald Pyke? When you next meet your adopted son ask the prince if they are the same thing at all times. Shall I tell you a riddle? A king, a wealthy man and septon stand before a sell sword with weapon drawn..." Davos raised his hand in the method Stannis often did when people wasted his time and he was short of patience. Stannis had in fact warned him of this ploy and the riddle.

“And the sell sword has to decide which flavor o social control matters most to 'im.” The Eunuch paused with a look of genuine surprise on his chubby face. The eunuch nodded and spoke in a more regular voice.

“Prince Stannis has some very interesting philosophy doesn’t he? It is almost like he doesn’t actually believe in any of our fine cultural institutions.” Davos laughed and Maester Cressen spoke again.

“You aren’t even from Westeros my lord.” the chained man almost sneered the last two words, making a point on how arbitrary titles were and what Cressen believed Vary's lordship was worth. The target of the measters whit only tittered before he spoke in a nonchalant voice. It was almost like nothing in front Varys had any importance. The casual disregard for human life was something Davos would never get used to, which is why he was glad Stannis didn't share that proclivity with most highborn.

“Just so good maester, Just so. An now a small test of your effectiveness maester." The eunuch turned to the Onion knight and said "Ser Davos Seaworth what do you know of my history, if you don’t mind me asking?” Davos paused. Stannis had told him what he suspected and what limited scraps of information he collected second hand. It was up to him to use each as he saw fit. The prince of Storms End had implied he would rather tame the Eunuch, but having met the man Davos was of the mind that some men don’t need second chances. Further, by his reckoning this man Norman Oates' life was just such a chance, even if Davos couldn’t prove it or see what the play was.

The wife’s name was Yennifer Longwaters from what the Boggs told him and her family had been in Kings Landing for generations. About two generations ago they fell on hard times and things didn’t improve. Which would explain why they had sold her off to the oaf Davos would soon have cut down and buried. Said drunken lout was born to a scullery maid who was hastily released from her service in the Red Keep with a sizeable bag of silver and a marriage to a merchant. There was none among the staff still alive who could elaborate on the obvious story thanks to Tywin’s sack but Norman’s silvery gold hair filled in the details.

Their investigations ended with some obvious details. The couple had a total of five children together, not including the one which supposedly killed her. Of said three boys and two girls three had either silver blonde hair or eyes so blue they could pass for purple. The other thing they got from small talk was the fact Yennifer’s death was in part due to the lasting affects caused by her husband’s drunken fists while he claimed his marital rights. Then there were the rumors of mood swings from the eldest daughter and orders of moon tea. Something told Davos more than a bit of the remorse he would hear when he presented the Oates family with the news and financial recompense would be acting. Still the man should have faced trial, not be found dead in his cell.

Rising to the challenge Davos said “Reports have you being born in Lys as a slave who was trained in the arts of mummery and musical instruments. In Myr a cult, likely that of R’hllor, purchased you and had your bits off for some fertility ritual. I'm not a healer but even I know that unless you get help that will kill most folk. You would have been helpless for days if not weeks in a land where you had no friends. So thems that did it must have nursed you back to health. You were literate, able to sing, so a church could find you useful. So it stands to reason they made you join the cult. At some point you either were sold or escaped. From there the reports grow hazy."

"All we do know is you became an intelligencer in Pentos. That's where Aerys heard about you and was impressed. That and you have an understandable if extreme dislike for magic rituals and religion.” The man’s purple eyes widened and then narrowed once again. then he spoke in a more respectful manner.

“Prince Stannis is well informed and his sense of logic has not been hampered by his head wound. I had no idea he had someone speak to Maester Pycelle before this tragic war.” In his time at court Davos had been trying to get a handle of Varys. Just now he had rattled the man enough to confess to monitoring his movements in the capital and even listening on his conversations. Not that Davos and his ‘frogs’ weren’t doing the same to him.

Davis smiled and said “The prince is always concerned about the goings on in the capital, even if he doesn’t show it.” The look of surprise on the bald man’s face was something he learned to relish. Let the eunuch know that Stannis was able to have conversations that he couldn’t monitor even before he was looking in the princes direction. Vary’s seemed the type to not cope well with knowing that his network of spies, both mundane and impressed babes, wasn’t fool proof. Varys then continued.

“Your prince left out a few details. The ‘priest’ was in fact a warlock of some renown and he didn’t simply carry out a neat operation the likes of which your ‘doctors’ proscribed. He gave me some foul tasting concoction, it didn’t dull the pain of the knives as they did their work, it only made me unable to cry out or move. And it wasn’t just some quaint prayer for a good harvest like they do when they slaughter noble boys in Pentos. The man tossed my parts in the fires of his brazier while his ‘acolytes’ chanted in their infernal language and the flames turned blue while he asked a question in a language lost to most men. Then the fire spoke back. From that day I swore to oppose the dark arts and the fanatics seeking to build their ‘brighter future’ with them.”

Davos gave him a look which mixed pity, concern and disgust. He could see why the man could view anything supernatural with loathing. If he should see Stannis as his enemy his intelligence and ruthlessness would make him a deadly threat. But what could he do to the man without proof?

“And what does that have to do with me or Lord Stannis. You have been against every plan he has brought up. I admit the prince can be naïve sometimes and there are consequences to change, but you see more 'dangers' than lord Arryn. I would say its personal but Stannis has done you no wrong. It’s not whatcha call very professional,” The Onion Knight replied. The eunuch looked at him the way his wife did when she caught him doing something foolish.

“Come now Ser Davos. We are both men of sound reason. Stannis knows things no one, one matter how well informed or gifted with genius could possibly piece together. He makes enough excuses and provides enough evidence to make plausible explanations but no one is that lucky.” Davos could almost swear he felt Varys peering into his soul looking for answers he could use against Stannis. What the black priestess tricked Davos into hearing was none of his concern. A power doesn't make one evil or good, only what a man or woman chooses to do with it. Stannis had knighted him, provided a good future for him and others. There was no way Seaworth would let slip anything that would damage him.

Cressen again jumped to Davos' rescue. “Or perhaps you are just going on a witch hunt to cover your failure to notice the tons of wildfire underneath you? Or did you know and were simply fanatically loyal to a man who mutilated his own wife nearly as bad as that innocent boy was so many years ago?” Davos watched Varys squirm. The smuggler had seen most of the world and was no stranger to hypocrisy by now.

The soon to be ex Master of whispers clapped. “Bravo Measter Cressen you both know and teach rhetoric very well. You learned your rhetoric well. But Aerys was just a normal madman an even his slightly less mad son were limited to the five senses. Stannis deals with powers beyond the mortal realm...”

Davos cut him off because was getting annoying.

“If you are telling the truth I feel pity for that boy and I don’t judge what he had to do to survive to manhood in a world of slavers and zealots. Seven know I am no saint. But to the best of my knowledge Prince Stannis has never harmed an innocent person, he doesn’t believe in unnecessary brutality and he does his best to avoid bloodshed. He also never abused children in the name of Victory!" Davos felt himself grow truly angry and he pointed a finger at the bald man. 

"I don’t see how a man as ‘wise’ as you can’t see the truth in front of him. Magic isn’t responsible for what happened to you. Slavery is the reason you were in that position. Slavery practiced by your previous clients and by the associates you don’t mind working with. While I’m not as smart as them lords I can guarantee you that many more men, women and children get raped, mutilated and murdered for ordinary greed and sick pleasures than to power up some fortune telling fire.”

Varys stopped speaking a minute before nodding the way Stann did when someone dismantled a faulty argument. “My my, our dear onion knight has the soul of a poet. Or I should say Prince Stannis’ words are poetic coming from your mouth. While I agree slavery is evil, is the way your mighty Westerosi lord and noble knight treats the ‘small folk’ any better? I think you know the answer to that Ser Davos. Your trips across the Narrow Sea carrying luxury goods grown and made by those same impoverished farmers to those same lords have shown you that abuse or respect depends more on the person in charge than the law." Then Varys' voice took on quasi reverent or mocking tone at different times.

"But yes I am without balls not my eyes and even if they are not quite as large as the onions on your flag they work just fine. By and large things are better on this side of the waters. Even the meanest small folk can risk starvation, bandits and illness to go somewhere else without dogs chasing after them. And Prince Stannis wants to make a better kingdom for everyone! There is nothing not to love about his proposals; more food and less abuse for the small folk, more wealth for the merchant and more effective power for the noble. Only a heartless idiot, with no sense of shame or self preservation would want things to stay the way they are." Now the soon to be unemployed man's words were definitely mocking in that way Stannis and Cresson called sarcastic whit.

"Only does your Golden Stag forget where he is? There are lords here who I know for certain still practice ‘Prima nocta’ and wonder why some of their taxes are lost and minor accidents befall their field animals. Frankly there are a great many idiots who will get themselves booted rather than use common sense. And lets not forget what the Essosi will do once they get a whiff of this. Unlike Robert and his court the slave magisters count coppers very, very well. Stannis is wise enough not to directly challenge them but if he can do what he promises they will loose a great deal of wealth if they wish to keep their slave economy the way it is. And believe me many of them believe in the right to abuse those beneath them in a way Stannis would call fanatical. The fact his ways would make every one of them better off while securing their power means nothing to them.” Davos paused a moment to digest what the fat man said before speaking again.

“Call me a dunce and be done with it, but I don’t understand where it is you’re going. Are you saying Stannis is setting them up for another war? One they will loose because they are petty evil men too stupid to see they can’t win?”

Vary's belly rolled slightly as he tittered with more gusto than before. “Hehe Sir Davos you are far more intelligent than you give yourself credit for. I’m sure Stannis pointed it out to you that some of the lords are just ‘asses whose assets could be better used doing something productive’. Only those dunces have lots of swords and some people will follow them for tradition’s sake. I don’t know what tools or weapons Stannis has up his sleeve to convince you it will be a cost effective victory, but the realm will bleed if he attempts a third of his reforms.”

Cresson cut in again, likely before Davos' anger pushed him to rashness “So you are opposing doing something to keep small folk from being pushed into rebellion by cruel and stupid men? Do you honestly think that not letting one of every four children die before they reach five in Flea Bottom and half a hundred cities like them is wrong?” Davos would thank the master later for intervening as he found himself getting angry enough to ignore Stannis’ orders. Vary’s sighed before removing his hands from their sleeves in mock surrender.

“Careful Ser Davos. I believe Stannis’ lessons in rhetoric should have included proscription against 'ad hominem'. That means one should attack the argument and not the person making it. I serve the realm. I as someone who was born as common as can be, lower even, appreciate Prince Stannis’ ideology. However, bloodshed based on ideology is not what the realm needs. The Prince might be able to deliver on what he promises, or he might not. But once swords are drawn people stay dead. In my opinion as someone who has seen many types of governments and rulers collapse you should consider my opinions and reconsider both your approach and intensity. Win or lose some might even see Stannis as being just as fanatical as those he opposes. 

"From the destruction of the Rhyonar, to the conquest of Aegon and the spread of the faith by Hugh the Hammer many intelligent and inspired men sought to change the world for their vision of a 'better word'. Princess Nymeros burned a third of Dorne to save her people from slavery. Even something as simple as banning Prima Nocta caused revolts and bloodletting to befall innocent caught between her good intentions and lustful cruel lords."

"My personal oath to fight the unnatural wasn’t just about the loss of my manhood. The warlock who cut me had some visions and plans for the future of his order, the city of Myr and I believe the world. He was willing to cut me and hundred others like me to reach those ends because he thought it was worth the ‘small evil’ to reach those lofty goals. He wasn’t a heartless monster. They could have thrown me out into the street without stitching me up and feeding me for the three weeks it took to heal. No one forced them to offer me a place to live and work. But all the same the grand visions of great men don’t take account of the fact a lot more small boys ‘get the boot’ than the great asses.” 

"It is often that the greatest amount of devastation is not done by greedy or evil men. No crusades, revolutions and calls to uplift are the purview of those claiming righteousness. For there is no height or low they will not plumb to see justice done."

"Truly I say there is no creature on earth half so terrifying as a truly just man."

Davos considered his words and on the surface there was wisdom in them, in fact he had shared some of those concerns with the Stannis himself. Of course the eunuch was not one Seaworth would trust to tell him water was wet!

“Those areya concerns? You never said so in the council chamber. Hmm It seems I owe you an apology,” the new knight said. Not that Davos believed him but the argument was somewhat sound. Not to mention it was food for thought. Ser Davos' hands moved slightly away from the hilt of his dagger. They also were just that much closer to the throwing dagger he kept accessible via a slit in his tunic, though the eunuch didn’t need to know that.

Cressen again spoke. “Your reasoning is unexpectedly rational. Stannis and I feared you might be..”

“A bitter Eunuch angry at everyone and everything because I was maimed and out to make the world suffer?” the plum said and then tittered. “Unlike lord Arryn I don’t like to give ideas to enemies who might be too stupid to figure them out by themselves. I will take it as a compliment Stannis wrote his ideas in a way that he knew would be shared with myself for review.” Something in the back of Davos' neck stood at attention. Was the spider mocking them? No of course he was mocking them. Of course there was no legal recourse and Stannis had forbidden Davos from using Flea Bottom rules.

“Yet and still. Stannis’ plans are not based on his emotions. We need to change to stop not only another rebellion, but to strengthen the Baratheon dynasty. Yes it has risks but we went over them with smart men and women. It needs to happen and the king agrees." Davos found himself saying.

Cressen continued the pressure. "And you should consider why that warlock chose you. A great sum of money could buy fancy catamites aplenty. Such men and women hunt those with a certain bloodline for those types of rituals, kingsblood they call it. The blood of ancient kings who could see through trees, share bodies with wolves and even ride dragons. For someone who hates magic and those how practice it, isn’t it odd you seem to find yourself supporting branches of the family that rode dragons? Or do you think that Targaryen blood is no longer magical?” He stared at Varys just as Cressen said the last line. Of course the man was back in control of himself. Varys didn’t say another word and instead removed a letter from his sleeve with a flourish. When Davos removed his dagger at the same time the eunuch laughed, and the mirth reached his purple eyes. Feeling somewhat silly, Davos replaced the knife within its sheath..slowly.

The spymaster wagged his finger but there was no reproach. “You are learning my dear. Another few months and you’ll be ready to play at the level Stannis expects of you. The men hidden nearby are another good touch, but be mindful that a deterrent is only effective when the other person knows in advance."

"As you know, I will tender my official resignation in three months. It would seem I am somewhat redundant and my methods are too distasteful for this court. I have already told the lord hand that my departure has nothing to do with our row. Despite the scare tactics prince Stannis used to convince King Robert to follow his path, I doubt this war will last another four months.” Varys placed the letter on the table near the guard’s chair.

“This is for our dear Prince, merely some words of wisdom I hope will help him. I truly admire his goals and character even if I disagree with his methods.” Then he slowly turned to walk away, but before Varys cut the corner he just as slowly turned and looked Davos in the eye.

“May Prince Stannis’ better kingdom manifest. This old bald hypocrite will go back to the pit of evil flesh peddlers and leave the land of heroes forevermore.” Davos did not touch the envelope which was sealed with black wax and the image of the spider. Instead, he blew the whistle in his hand and five minutes later three armed crannog men were looking it over after securing the rest of the building.  



	20. William Darry I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel Free to comment

**Willliam Darry**  
Dragon Stone  
Two months after the exposure of the Wildfyre plot  
Eighth Month of 283 AC

When Ser William Darry heard the news of Aery’s death and the fall of the capital he was devastated. The young prince, his sister and mother had done nothing to deserve the deaths they suffered. And that beast of a usurper was little more than a spiteful hypocrite. Few men who proclaimed such devotion to a ‘stolen’ bride had such a queer way of displaying it. Reports had 'King' Robert celebrating his ‘victory’ with a new whore every other day. It was even said his brother Stannis both tried to downplay and curtail the giant sot's excess with his ungodly inventions.

Darry snorted, thinking of the ‘diaphrams’ and treated animal intestine ‘condoms’ of which the man made a version for female harlots to use. When the descendant of the Lords of Harroway thought of the label each container held ‘for the prevention of the transmission of pox’ and the graphic pictorial description of use said ire increased. And the storm lords decried the Targaryens for heresy and sexual deviancy, the nerve! Dragon Stone's masters had unlocked the secret of the devices and their true purpose was to prevent the drunken lecher king from making more bastards. “Prince” Stannis ought to geld the whoremonger instead. Or better yet the formerly stern man should apply his perverse ‘wrong brother’ claptrap to his own family. The bastard had increased Robert's popularity among the commons and nobles by focusing on the crimes of Aerys. It reached the to point that many of the undecided or unthinking even blamed the mad King for Tywin's atrocities in the capitol.

Yes, Aerys had been stockpiling that green fire in the capitol and yes he was paranoid, but he would never have burned his grandchildren alive. The unkempt loon had said they smelled ‘dornish’ but William was certain he intended to send them out of the city via the secret tunnels while Aerys lured the usurper and his armies together in one place and put paid to them all. Of course many subjects would have died horribly, but with the death of Robert, Stark, Tywin and their chief supporters the war would have been over. Rheagar would be avenged and the Targaryens could rebuild. Darry's maester and remaining friends in the capital agreed there was no where near enough wildfire to burn the entire capital or even most of it. The sound of small feet on the ancient stones disrupted further ruminations, as did the pair of small arms wrapping themselves around Lord Darry's calf.

Bending down the middle aged man picked the small child up before speaking. “My my, King Viserys what’s the matter?” Darry's normally gruff voice became soft with concern for the eight year old silver haired boy.

“I had a nightmare, lord Darry. It was horrible!” said the future rightful king. The lord placed him back on the ground, for despite his strength he was getting older. then Darry took Prince Viserys by the hand as they walked to the room with the painted table and sat together.

William coached his voice and said “You know when I have bad dreams or hard choices to make I find it helps to talk about them with people I trust. I hope you find me among said group.” The little boy waited a moment and decided. The purple eyed boy' voice was small, yet determined as he recounted his tale.

“I was grown up and had my own dragon. It was big and black, my sister had one too and there was another man with us. He looked a little like my brother Rheagar and his dragon was green. We were flying over Westeros and we saw the usuper’s army bellow."

"Then we roared and swooped down to attack. They fired a bunch of ballistae and arrows but nothing could hurt us, cause we were too strong and fast. All of us were wearing red and black; our silver hair had so many bells in them we played songs as we went. Our armies cheered as we passed them.” Darry interrupted the lad. He wanted to spare Rhealla so she could rest, but dealing with the somewhat spoiled child was her concern. 

“So what was scary about that? Targaryens are supposed to ride dragons and burn their enemies.” The boy became cross and for a second Darry worried he would have another tantrum. It was something William would have to work on with the queen. Viserys might soon have to appear before bankers of the free cities. If Robert Baratheon could play at being a changed man such poor behavior would doom their cause.

The child pouted and exclaimed “I was getting to it ! We had burned half the enemy and some of their cities and our men were surrounding the capital. Then three dragons flew at us. One of them was a man with black hair and one was a woman that looked like him but her eyes were purple. The one in front was..” Darry once again interrupted. Only now the man was more concerned than merely anxious to dismiss the prince quickly, as prophesy from a Targaryen was something one did not dismiss outright.

“The usurper?” It was the logical conclusion. Stannis was painting this as a continuation of the Greens and Blacks conflict. Thus two groups of dragons fighting made sense to a small boy.

The boy shook his small head though. “No. It was his brother. He was older so his hair was all white, like ours. We fought, but he…he ate us up. Our army was scattered.” The boy looked terrified as he wailed.

“Please. I don’t want to die like my aunt and her children!” Lord Darry made his choice then. He would do whatever it took to make sure Robert, Tywin or any of his dogs never got the chance to manifest his kings' fears.

Rhaella waddled in a minute later to collect her son. Darry truly wished she would let the nurses handle things and allow her to heal, but she insisted on following the regimen of light activity and ‘special’ exercise. William sighed as he remembered that Stannis was many things, but he was neither a coward or liar. Yet and still he would fight and if need be die to protect his charges and their rights.

She spoke in her kind yet tired voice.“Lord Darry, I appreciate your taking time to attend to the king. Viserys! I am sure your lord hand has pressing duties. We shouldn’t keep him from them.” He bowed as the queen disentangled the boy from his right leg and latched him onto herself.

Darry truly admired the Queen’s strength of character and determination. Many would have surrendered to death with the wounds had seen on her body. Hell some warriors had died from hurts less severe. William took a knee and spoke the words his training and belief required.

“To attend to the king and his family is my primary duty.” Courtly manners and holding hands were just about the only service Darry could perform for his charge. Money was running out and men were defecting or considering treason.

The queen smirked, not buying his act though grateful for his presence. Then she said “Be that as it may I tire and so does our King.” The boy took the hint and they walked away slowly. Before she exited the corner Queen Rhealla turned and actually smiled at her hand.

“And I believe there is a courtier who wishes to speak with you. Her message should bring us joy.” Then she was gone and Darry was left with his thoughts.

2 hours later  
The limited bay of Dragon Stone

Even though the number of petitioners was relatively small it never did to display desperation. So Lord William made her await his pleasure. If it this was just another trader or pirate captain trying to gauge them she would be lucky to leave with fewer than ten lashes.

What The Hand saw instead was a relatively young looking woman in non descript jupon and hose. On her face was a three quarters mask in the shape of a ram. The only hint of her sex were the swell of hip and accent of breast. Darry was somehow certain she had means of disguising those as well, knowing who she likely represented. Since the man had reportedly been force to slim down, had the figure before him not been slightly below five and a half feet and possessed such a small jaw William would swear he was looking at Varys himself.

The plain white letter with the spider seal embedded in black wax did not make him second guess the author. Darry knew better than to demand her to unmask, but simply started talking.

“How do I address you?” She bowed and spoke in a casual and artificially affected low born accent.

“I am Bellweather.” As in one the goat who led a flock. Flocks of sheep or birds was the obvious parallel. Without further preamble The Hand of King Viserys broke the seal.

Good day lord hand

Time is of the essence so I will make this brief. In the ship my associate Bellweather arrived in you will find five thousand two hundred and one gold dragons. There will be a manifest with the exact description of convertible goods amounting to another three thousand gold dragons.

Another shipment of similar or greater amount will arrive each week if you are interested. In addition I have arranged an informal meeting for yourself with associates of the Iron Bank and sundry other Essosi financial institutions and commercial interests.

Frankly speaking, the Targaryen cause is doomed unless you take drastic action. Some of the methods I describe may not be pleasant but would you rather take your chances in exile or relying on the mercy of Robert Baratheon? Again, no matter what his brother may promise or any medical advice he may provide ultimately the decision will rest with the Elder Baratheon. And I do not need to remind you that no matter what his current display of character reformation may indicate his hypocritical hatred of all things Targaryen has not diminished in the slightest.

With my assistance, funds and a bit of providence Viserys may yet sit the Iron Throne instead of ‘laying in state in the Red Keep’. As an extra proof of my bona fides I can provide proof your brother and other loyalists are alive and receiving shelter. Lords Jon Connington and Orton Merryweather are also among those I can contract or retrieve for your cause.

Should you wish to continue our relationship feel free to alert my associate. Though I advise you not to wait too long as she is my associate, not my employee.

Yours eternally,

There was no name or signature on the end, however there were detailed notes and a cypher key on the accompanying pages. Darry looked over the rest of the note before sharing it with the Queen.

  
40 minutes later

The queen's voice was exasperated. “So Varys proposes we unleash mercenaries on our own people? Could we not do something else with the funds?”

“Varys says they are ours to do with as we wish, but I thought it over and we currently don’t have the man power to be more than a nuisance. Say what you will about Stannis’ supposed mental state, he knows how to build a fleet and he will have a bigger fleet than us in six months. He can directly challenge us even faster with a combination of sell sails and scrapings of their individual kingdoms," The Hand of the true king said. Unlike the woman's unlamented husband the queen was a woman who both deserved and demanded honest council.

“So either we use the cheapest scum and bleed our own people or throw ourselves at Stannis’ feet?” The distaste in Queen Rhaella's voice was almost as thick as the bile in his own throat.

Darry quickly replied “If it were Stannis alone making the decisions I might consider it. Varys' associate and our Maesters grudgingly confirmed his medical advice is sound and should increase the chances of a healthy delivery.”

“Yes a healthy delivery so Tywin’s animals can break his skull and treat me like Aerys did?” The rage in Rhealla's voice flared and played out across her worn but still handsome Valyrian features in a way that was unlike so kind a woman. Lord Darry moved to place a comforting hand on her arm, but the queen brushed it away.

Rhaella continued her rant.“It will look like we took the Usurper's good will and tossed it in his face in sheer spite. Just another set of selfish dragons willing to spill other’s blood for a crown we don’t deserve to hold onto.” The queen looked around her and placed her left hand in front of her. It rubbed the protruding belly as the life within it stirred. In Darry's estimation a large number of arguments warred within her. 

The 'secret letter' from Stannis spoke of a marriage for Viserys to some barbarous tribe in the north on an island named Skagos. The babe in her belly would receive a royal marriage should it be a girl. The prince even allowed the queen to have a choice in her own affairs. She could found her own religious order, retire to a rebuilt Summer Hall in peace or find a measure of solace alongside a 'loyal and pious' stormlander. The queen was most shocked by the last offer, but would not explain it in any detail. After burning the letter and sending the Summer Islander on his way with a bag of gold the queen teetered between despondency and relief. For the next weeks She seemed more and more likely to accept despite Darry's arguments. The hand knew there were other options than accepting the too good to be true offer and the likely brain addled Stannis' visions of a 'better world'. While their situation was bleak they could always flee to Essos and return once Robert made of a mess of things. The queen rightfully countered that with Stannis around that was unlikely. Rhaella looked at him as though William were a roach in need of a heel when Darry naturally brought up the notion of assassination. Wisely such conversation topic was not repeated.

It was why Darry was glad of the new option before them. With a viable way to win Rhealla would be forced to think clearly. Even if Stannis was able to work miracles a surrender would mark the end of the Targaryen line. Oh their blood would to flow in the Baratheon dynasty through intermarriage. There would even still be 'nobles' with the name Targaryen. But no one in the seven kingdoms would fight to restore the line of a northern half savage to the iron throne by force. Even the other northmen held Skagosi with contempt. This so called mercy was an insult, the ultimate insult to the proud line of Dragon riders. It was even worse than forcing the lad to join the Night's Watch. She had heard Darry's arguments many times before and now the queen would make her decision. The loyal hand only hoped Rhaella made the correct one.

Rheaellas' face became as hard and still as the black gargoyle guardians that gave Dragon Stone its name. “Do it! We will show the Usurper the price of waking the dragon. If we do have to negotiate later we will do so from a position of strength. The monster I married taught me that much at least.”

Lord Darry gave his support. "By your will your grace. I will take care matters personally.” William's hand found her own as they folded over her belly. The life within would not suffer for Aerys and Rheagar's stupidity!

“I am the queen..” she said softly before Darry cut her off. It was the thing Darry respected most about Rhealla. Despite the abuse she suffered, that men like himself allowed her to suffer, the woman took the obligation of her station seriously. Rhaela truly saw her retainers as her responsibility, not toys to sate her whims. Well that worked both ways. Darry had sat by while the queen was violated and did nothing like all the others, Kingsgaurd included. 

Darry knew his brother was bound by holy oaths, but William had seen some of the queen's wounds and spoken to the servants of the hidden ones. Rhaella was a strong woman with an iron will, but her ordeal left more obvious hurts than the physical scars. The Hand never heard her weeping, but there were times he looked upon the still handsome woman and could feel the pain and weariness roll off his king's mother in waves. Darry could accept no other conclusion than his brother Jonothor's inaction shamed their family. Now William could do something, no would anything to remove that stain. 

“No your grace! As you said if we must negotiate later it wouldn’t do to have you associated with this in any way. Trust me. Though I reviewed his plans, with a few minor tweaks I believe we can still win this for your highness.” No matter the personal cost this Targaryen Hand would do his duty and shield a royal deserving such protection. He only hoped not to meet the same end as Lord Chelstead.


	21. Tywin I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment. I love to hear from my readers.

**Tywin**  
Riverun, Riverlands   
Five months after Wildfyre plot exposure  
Tenth Month of 283

Tywin Lannister spared a look at his brother Tyget as they enjoyed some of the fine wines Prince Stannis had requested be prepared for the occasion. The ‘reactive’ poison testing cloths and animals were effective and he felt safe on that front, even though he retained his poison testers. Some might take it as the man extending an olive branch but Twin knew better. This wedding was important to far too many to allow personal feelings to get involved, thus the man was being ‘pleasant’. This was obvious when one considered the services of their handlers were until the termination of hostilities. It yet another stealth insult implying he believed Tywin would need a great deal of personal protection.

He saw Ser Gregor in position to his far right, with none but his personal guard near him. Tywin made especially sure to remind him to be on his best behavior lest he wind up like Ser Amory Lorch, who was currently a sub Castellan in Casterly Rock. In truth he was a prisoner who would be traded to the Dornish at war’s end. Unlike the porcine glutton knight of manticores there was still a use for Gregor, though he wondered if the brute was intelligent enough to see his end pon the morrow.

His brother took a sip and said “This is pretty good Arbor Gold. The bottle says 187 but I am no expert.” Tyget and Gerion were always the ones for making merry. It was part of the reason Joy Hill even existed. Tywin made certain Gerion understood the use of the new ‘condoms’ and that further shaming of the family would not be tolerated should he wish to continue receiving his stipend. Though with how generous Robert and Stannis were he was uncertain that threat would be sufficient.

“I would hope the Tyrells know better than to short Prince Stannis. After all it is damn unlikely they could get away with it for long. Not to mention doing so won’t help Lord not so fat Flower get his great grand daughter on the throne,” Twyin countered and used a tone of speech that indicated the Lion Lord wanted silence.

Below them on the stage were numerous singers and players who performed. Some of them were making traditional songs, while others had some of Stannis’ developments. Tywin was never fond of the King or his brother. The first was a drunken lout and the second far too sanctimonious and that was before his near death experience. Were it up to him that fool knight Ser Doman would have done the job properly.

The proud lion watched his daughter wave a page over and whisper in his ear. Three minutes later Twyin listened to another foreign singer warble ‘The rains of Castermere’ in an attempt to appease his daughter’s request and he rolled his eyes. The fool would have been better off ignoring Cersei’s unwise attempt and supporting her father’s house. All she was doing was inciting the resentment many of these people had with house Lannister and Tywin in particular. In their minds he was responsible for ‘Rhealla’s rage’ falling upon their shores and lands. They were too polite to say anything about it but the hard looks should have been enough to warn her off it.

This of course led to yet another one of Stannis songs being played, this time requested by Lord Jonos Bracken. And without coincidence it was one that could be construed as a response. The slow mournful sounds coming from the mouth of what he astutely construed was an Andal who spent time in Essos were indeed mesmerizing. His green eyes didn’t match the purple hair or his outlandish clothes but his voice was enthralling.

Spoiler: Skin 

  
The lion of the Rock stopped himself from snarling, because letting others know they could get under your skin was just another way to encourage more of the same behavior. Each time he attempted to explain the necessity, regrettable as it was of dealing with the Targaryens he had been shut down.

That accursed ‘heroes’ dinner was the worst of it. The up-jumped peasant actually pulled out a note when Tywin brought up a reasonable argument defending himself.

Back then

Davos said “Begging my lords’ pardon but I don’t want to misquote the prince.” The former smuggler then handed the note to Lord Arryn and the king confirmed it was his brother’s hand writing. The hand smirked without humor and the King barely contained his laughter. Then they passed it back to the damned smuggler who handed it to Maester Cressen.

It laid out Stannis’ sly rebuke, and it was a rebuke for its delicacy. He actually rebuked the man who got his hands dirty for his brother. As if King Robert didn’t smile with glee at the sight of his enemy’s wife and children. The hypocrisy almost made him gag and the worst part was the end.

“And I understand the necessity of making hard choices in war. This is a land of harsh extremes and it breeds hard men. However I hope you will take time to consider the long term political and strategic ramifications of your actions in your much valued service."

"I also realize you are quite experienced in solving difficult problems. Though should you find yourself making a hard choice for more than four hours I recommend you seek the attention of one the maesters allotted to your new academy.” The laughter and snickers Tywin received were increasingly unbearable. The Lion of the Rock had not been called a cock in quite some time.

Now

  
Tywin was not an idiot and he realized the strategic logic of the prince’s arguments, but Stannis was just as much an ass as his brother. There was no need to be mocking, unless Stannis was increasing Baratheon distance to Tywin even after marrying his daughter to Lord Edmure and claiming Tyrion as a page. The prince even actually legitimized Gerion’s natural child to make her a cup bearer to Queen to be Lyanna and probably had an office lined up for Gerion himself. The fact he allowed Tywin to have so much and hinted at releasing Jaime from the Kingsgaurd could be construed as a reward, but a part of him worried. Perhaps Stannis was shoring up support in the West in anticipation of removing a troublesome, embarrasing Warden who had outlived his usefulness. The lion lord exchanged glances with Ser Gregor and a part of him was even more uncertain as to whether he would be sacrifice enough to placate Stannis ire. They said the man was justice obsessed and it seemed that part of Stannis' personality didn't change after the blow the stormlord took. 

Then again another part of him saw how neatly the Baratheons could wrap up their Dornish problem should Lord Tywin do something that would allow him to be sent to the wall as a criminal. Stannis probably had taken that into account with his 'suggestions'. The methodical mind of the middle Baratheon brother was damn fiendish in the way he melded politics, trade and marriage alliances. If he didn't believe Stannis was so rigid he would suspect to befall an accident during the campaign. Tywin was surprised to find that a snort of derisive laughter escaped his lips. His brother pretended not to notice, but neither of them would forget. Taking his cold eyes from his sibling Tywin instead gazed at the newlywed sharing pie.

The lion lord looked at his daughter and she like a good deal of the vapid, empty headed cows were becoming misty eyed. That Essosi singer would likely become the father of many a bastard if he did not have any of those ‘skins’. It was almost love, that hook was a stealth insult to him and the triumph he had over the scheming Reyne bitch. Symbolically, the song could be the last lament of people trapped in a collapsing building; or drowning under water. And the singer was really earning his position with delivery. Tywin was good at reading men and the single tear that fell down the young bard's cheek felt genuine. So did the look of barely concealed hatred that burned into Tywin's mind as their green eyes locked, before the young man wisely repressed it back within his bard's mask.

Tywin considered making an example of him, but though better of it. Many small folk had lost people in the Saltpan’s landing and subsequent offensive. And contrary to what Stannis might believe Lord Tywin could learn from his ‘mistakes’, unlike the Iron born scum Prince Stannis brought into the war on their side. Stannis' victory in Massy Hook and economic incentives had convinced Balon Greyjoy to retake an active support role in the form of ‘Varangians’. Below his seat there were ‘elite’ raiders including Drums, Skinners and Good Brothers. Lord Drum was showing Red Rain off to some mummer wenches and making some kind of sword joke. What passed for Iron born humor was truly sad. Though Tywin was able to give Prince Stannis his due, keeping Balon and Doran on board was a stroke of genius which contributed to the war in an of itself.

At least the prince's other present contribution was more appreciated. The crannog men while strange and somewhat uncouth were not as barbaric as the Freys made them out to be. The Bog liege men made excellent scouts. And he unlike, Edmure did not need Stannis or Lord Peat’s warnings to beware of Walder Frey. The forces of the 'Late Lord' were being closely monitored both by the crannog men and his sister Gemma. If the toad of lord in the Twins attempted anything untoward many more Freys than Lord Walder would be permanently late, Stannis' ‘suggestions’ or no.

“Joanna would be proud,” said his brother. Tywin turned to his brother and swallowed the rebuke that was on his tongue. Tyg was right and he had enough people who hated him in the hall as it was.

He replied “Yes, she certainly would.” A part of him knew Joanna always hated this part of weddings. It was so undignified. At least Edmure seemed smitten enough. With any luck Cersei would be as well. Though hopefully his daughter would keep enough of her wits to direct her seeming dolt of a groom in paths benefiting house Lannister.

Tywin looked on with a mix of pride and slight revulsion as they began the ‘bedding’ of his only daughter. Men and women both stared with envy and desire as Joanna’s child was carried off to join houses Lannister and Tully forever. After today he would secure the future of his house would be secure, even if he did not get the marriage he initially wanted. The lord of the Rock also listened to the part of him that said it was better this way as his way he would not be beholden to funding Robert's folly and could instead let Stannis, his 'copper counters' and 'scientists' make him richer. Just how Stannis knew the Lannister mines were played out and a method to ‘help’ was beyond him. Stannis even agreed to foster his shame in the capitol and make something useful out of him. Tywin had seen what a few months did for Lord fat flower, but the lion lord couldn't believe Stannis could pull that miracle off. However, it was one less think Tywin had o deal with. For such benefits Tywin would learn to swallow a good deal of humble pie and fork out whatever weregild the damn snakes wanted.

There were knights, men at arms and servants making that ridiculous stabbing motion. A few of the more drunken were unfolding their arms in a wave motion. From what he knew of the proposed technique it was in reference to a ‘blast’ of wildfire. Tyg interrupted him again.

“Now let’s see brother. Stannis just invited us into the STAB alliance or is it now the BLAST alliance?” His brother laughed and despite Tywin's earlier foul mood a small smile almost, almost broke across the proud lion's cheek. Then he remembered the rest of the heroes dinner and he further humiliation he felt.

Stannis’ invitation came with ‘suggested’ practices. The king made it clear he would not tolerate ‘excessive’ collective punishments against clearly innocent small folk who had no choice or options. That meant no ordering whole villages put to the sword, or organized rapes. Looting was still fine, as long it was ‘orderly’ and they left at least enough for the people to survive a walk to the next three towns. It seemed appealing to Robert’s wanting to be approved by Lyanna Stark was a button his brother Stannis knew how to press well. And while that Robert's words were aimed at him specifically he felt Stannis’ glare through his brother’s voice.

Tywin ignored the rest of the wedding feast, especially the foolishness at the Iron born’s section. At least they understood that Stannis was quite serious about following discipline, which was fitting for the amount the crown was paying them. That and Stannis had personally executed a half dozen of his Verangians for acting like Iron born. What was funny was the other Iron born weren’t overly upset about and even seemed to respect him somewhat more as he had drowned them.

  
Later on 

  
Tywin was woken in by a row in the early morning and glared into eyes only shade greener than his own. Lord Hoster was asleep and his son in law was busy making him a grandfather. Thus the Lannisters opted to handle the issue before it could disturb either of them, and these Iron born were his responsibility.

“What is the matter?” Tywin asked a surly Tygett. It seemed his brother had been dragged out from under the serving woman he was with and was in a fouler mood than him.

The Lannister knight replied “Some foolishness with the Ironborn.” Lord Drumm and his two sons approached the table the Lannisters had set up their ‘court’ arround. Opposite them were some Westerland hedge knights, one of which had a busted nose.

"What is the issue here?” Tywin asked sharply and he fixed each of them with a hard look from his lord’s face. It was too early to deal with this kind of stupidity and he was of half a mind to give out sharp lessons to everyone involved. In fact the lion lord was going to make at least one example. It was the elder Drumm who answered first.

“What’s the matter is this cunt tried to take my fooking sword! He’s lucky all I busted was his nose.” Sobering up enough Tywin recognized the blade they were talking about. Tywin had tried to purchase Red Rain a few times and failed. It wouldn’t be the first time some hedge knight became a robber knight. Usually it ended with a killing, and Tywin was impressed the Iron Born had shown any restraint at all.

As the two of them went one he found out that the sword was reported missing by Dennis and some serving man told Tywin he saw Ser Logan Deerfield creeping back to his tent.

Ser Logan hastily replied “Its not true milord. This fucker is just a clumsy drunk blamin others for hi’ own stupidity! I weren’t no where near that damn thing. And even I was going to take it why would I be stupid enough to leave it in my tent where the next man can see. Not like there’s a whole bunch of privacy in me section.” Which was a good point. It might be that the thieves realized they couldn’t escape and planted it with the closest patsy. Then again it could just be a stupid hedge knight though he could get one over on drunk Iron born. The two parties were getting heated and Tywin wanted to go back to bed, but something told him to look a bit closer.

“Bring me the sword," was all Tywin said. When they did The increasingly upset lion pulled it out of its sheath. Immediately he saw the telltale ripple associated with Valyrian steel. Or at least that’s what Tywin should have seen. With a roar the Lannister silenced the restart of the bickering.

“Silence! The next one to speak will receive 14 lashes. Bring me a bright lantern.” It was deadly quiet as The Lord of Casterly Rock examined the very clever forgery. If it were broad daylight the hoax might have been caught by the father or his sons. However, a couple of drunks trying to impress some pretty wenches made for easy marks. The hedge knight was just a cover for the culprits to escape.

Turning to the Iron Born he said “You three are idiots! You don’t use a Valyerian steel sword to impress harlots. And you were obviously stealing something otherwise you wouldn’t have been where you were at that time. Tell me what it was now and I will be lenient. If I have to search your belongings you will get an extra seven lashes for each item.” The man tried to keep a hard face for a minute but quickly broke. As Tywin expected he had stolen some bits of armor, tack for his horse and a small dagger. The ‘ser’ got himself 10 lashes and was on latrine duty until further notice. To make his point on the sword being fake he drove into the stone wall. Valyrian steel blades would chip stone, this one dented.

“Fuck! It was that hore, wannit? Denny’s what I tell you bout them red heads?” the Iron Born lord said as he layed into his progeny with harsh words. The older Drumm was not in a good mood and made to chastise his son more physically. Of course Tywin was full of ire as well. When The Lannister thought about how much embarrassment this would bring to his daughter's wedding his face became livid. Tygett saw his broher's mood and gained silence by striking his dagger pommel on the table.

“This did not happen tonight.” Tywin said it softly, but it was enough for everyone in the room to realize just how angry the great lord actually was. Drumm looked as though he would ask a question but thought better of it. Tywin answered it anyway.

“Lord Drumm you will wait two days before you report your blade stolen. By now it is in rebel hands.” This was all he wanted to say to the idiots. Wisely they realized the dismissal for what it was and made themselves scarce. Ones the area was clear his brother Ty looked him in his eyes. Then in a weary voice the knight spoke.

“You think Jonothor Darry took it,” Tygett said. It wasn’t a question. Tywin nodded again and stated the obvious.

“He will seek to embarrass us at every turn. I want you to implement the highest security protocol.” The improved security was likely the reason they lured the Drumms away from the feast hall for the switch and didn’t try to frame a more important knight or lord. Tywin was both relieved and angry. Part of him was happy for more proof that Stannis was not infallible. While another was afraid to think of what could have happened if they wanted to do more than just steal.


	22. Cully II/John Arryn III

**Cully**  
Kings Landing  
Two and a half Months after exposure of Wildfyre plot  
Ninth month of 283 AC  
Dawn

Cully's last job in the stinking city was pretty easy. At least the first part was anyway. All he had to do was put some weird metal things in the upper floors of some buildings and set them up the way Kite showed him. The older man made Cully practice for hours each day until he felt satisfied even though Cully only made mistakes during the first two runs. Their group were the most dedicated and sharp of the lot and it showed.

When the bird turned the handle on the thirteenth device he took a deep breath just like he was instructed and walked down the street heading toward the castle. There was no point in fucking up mid way to the end from panic. You never knew if them crannog men were looking at you, even though Cully knew there was less than a few hundred of them in the city. He and his sister were some of the smart ones. They knew the only loyalty worth a damn was to people who supported you. While they worked for the king Varys was the one that fed them. Of course, getting work with Bellweather was better, everyone he met said so.

There was only one more left but walking the seven hundred and fourteen steps to that man’s house was the scariest thing Cully ever did. Even in the fading sunlight he could swear the shadows moved in his direction. Try as the young might he couldn’t stop a bead of sweat rolling down his skin when a short man in skins wearing a green badge jostled him slightly.

“Good day to ya, I’m sorry for bumpin inta ya like that,” Cully said on autopilot and smiled. Cully felt kinda bad about what they were doing then. Them investigators didn’t hurt people unless they tried something stupid like running or fighting.

The man replied “Wasna ya fault youngin. We ain’t like them gold cloaks. Tell ya what have a cup o brown on me.” He fished in his pockets and pulled out a copper piece before placing it in Cully’s hands. Damn, he would have to wash them with rum and lemon juice before Cully got to the rally point. The bloody frogs had all kinds o ways to track people by smell with them hounds or magic. Yeah, Kite said magic wasn’t real but Cully knew better. They was too good at their job for it be just on account of smarts.

“Thanks officer..” Culy's boss might want to know the current patrols. Any extra work they could get done made the team taking their place’s job easier after all.

”Sergeant Morton Peat, youngin..”replied the frog. Cully thought quickly.

“Samwell, but me friends call me Sam. I gotta go now, but thanks a lot Sergeant Peat, me sis and I will eat to your health. ” The man laughed. It was a nice and friendly laugh and it reached his eyes. Cully was glad he learned that truth and lies game Shep showed him, otherwise he might have got pinched right there and then.

Then the man's face became slightly more stern and his voice was stern.“You be off now, its early and there’s a curfew for a reason.” Things were somewhat safer in most parts of the city now. People, even the pimps knew not to do obvious things like beat on women in public anymore. But kids still sometimes got kidnapped for some nasty things. There were more than a few crazy or desperate enough to ignore Varys' emergency sign. Thus a few of Shep’s people had gone missing recently. Course unlike when it happened to others kids, Shep quickly found who done it and made an example.

Still, it was good advice despite the fact Cully was dressed in clothes that matched the neighborhood. Most people who dealt in the skin trade didn’t touch ‘proper’ folk. They was the few them Gold Cloaks would do something for and like as not they knew the stupid fucks that did the deed. Cully turned from the officer after giving him a nod and smile.

A few houses later he made as if he were tying his shoe and rolled the copper under a loose stone. Cully knew better than putting it in his pocket, for all he knew it was a marker and he was not fucking this up for his last sibling. Being careful not to touch his clothes Cully walked the last steps and knocked on the door of Osmond Morton. When the creep reached the door he handed the crooked money man the bag on his shoulder and a note with a ram’s head seal. As instructed Cully made the murderous pederast open and read the instructions before repeating them to make sure Osmond was understood.

Said patsy was to take his package to the record’s hall where he would meet his fellow conspirators. There were secret instructions for everyone that needed to be completed before even more frogs arrived and Stannis had full control of everything. Osmond should wait for everyone to arrive, but should not start later than two hours from now. Then they were to carry out their assigned tasks before leaving the building for the last time. Morton was not to go home as other operatives would pack his family up and they would all be ‘extracted’ to Dragon Stone. Of course the man was to depart as soon as he got this note. The man who was sweaty by nature looked like he was about to faint but Osmond mastered himself before carefully transferring the device into his bag and walking out the door.

Cully quickly walked out of his home via the back door to a ‘safe house’. Once there he ditched his clothes and cleaned himself. While wiping himself Cully knew he was cleaning a lot more than evidence. That bastard's stench almost clung the air about him. But even after he was clean Cully didn’t stop sweating until he picked up his sister and they hit the sewers forty minutes later. This was one show they didn’t want to stick around for.

___________________________________________________

  
 **Jon Arryn**  
Two and a half Months after exposure of Wildfyre plot  
Ninth Month of 283 AC  
Dawn

The Lord of the Eyrie was finally rid of the onion smuggler and old man. With those two humming in the King’s ear nothing Jon said would get through. Maybe the man would see reason! The changes Stannis was advocating could have long reaching affects that sowed chaos. After talking to Varys before he went off on what he said would be the man's last mission, Arryn felt confident in his choices in moderating this ‘better kingdom’. While Jon wasn’t sure the Free Cities would go to war, he did agree they would see the clear and present threat Stannis’ proposals meant to their way of life. Hell, some of the lords in Westeros could well revolt despite the potential profits. Did Stannis forget what world he was living in?

Jon’s contemplations were disrupted by alarm bells, as in the Seven Great Bells in Baelor's Sept. A page ran up to him almost exhausted.

“Lord Hand,” the boy began but Jon raised his hand for the youth to calm down. What did they teach these pups about message relays? The eagle lord supposed that formal school for clerks and functionaries did make some sense.

After the youth caught his breath Jon asked“What is going on? Is the king?” The young teen cut him off.

“King Robert is fine. It’s wildfire My Lord. Someone set it up all over the city. They started going off less than half an hour ago.” The boy, a Lannister by birth, Lancel by name was over eager and a bit impertinent. Jon decided his name would be put forth as first to receive Stannis’ tender mercies.

As Jon walked with Lancel up the steps to get a better view he was joined by Tyrion Lannister and his chief guard Sandor Clegane. Unlike his somewhat taller kin, the boy knew how to be respectful, yet efficient. As the boy was fairly intelligent Jon opted not to keep speaking to Lancel.

“Lancel would you please attend the king?” said the hand. The boy bowed and departed.

Turning to the dou Jon asked “I do not suppose either of you could fill me in?” The mountain’s brother looked down at the dwarf child, who nodded his head. It was the boy who spoke.

“It looks like somebody put wildfire devices in the top floors of empty places and tall buildings. So far only four big ones have gone off, I saw one just now.” He pointed out the window where the top the dragon pit was backlit in green flames. It wasn’t a large amount and stone didn’t burn easily but it would cause panic. Almost a hour later the fires were still burning strong in the pit but the gates had stopped burning.

“Where else?” the lord asked. He had a bad feeling about this.

Tyrion responded “The Dragon Pit, The Lion’s gate and the Dragon’s gate went up in a row. The hall of records in the Treasury is on fire too.” It was then that some of Stannis’ Department of Internal Security men showed up. Jon Dismissed Tyrion and the Hound to hear their report. They didn’t know much more than Tyrion did but they informed him there was no wildfire in the Red Keep or any of the watched areas including the proposed sites of Stannis’ new academies.

It took another few hours for Lord Bogg to return with a detailed report.

Said cranngman said “The rapid response teams found some of them strange devices that didn’t go off. It seemed they weren’t real wildfire, just filled with some green paint that had some wildfire ingredients. Which is how they fooled the dogs to begin with, cus they weren’t looking for fakes.” The king roared in anger.

“Lots of good that fucking good that does when people start panicking. How did they get the real shit in the dragon pit and the bloody gates?” Lord Bogg didn’t flinch, which said a lot about his fortitude. His reply was just as calm as the small mans first words.

“I reckon we were wrong about terrorists not being able to fully seal off a large containers or being careful enough not spill any on the outside. Some of these devices look like they was made by Essossi, how good they is. If the dogs can’t get a spoor they can’t find anything. The dogs are tracking the fake scent now but there were almost a hundred of them things all over the city. Mostly round private homes of the richer folk.” Before Robert could escalate and loose track of what was important Jon interceded.

“So you are saying whoever did this wanted you to find the fake devices?” Bogg looked thoughtful for a moment before answering.

“I reckon so. Seems to me they are sending a message. I have teams tracking down leads now. And to answer my grace’s question they just bribed the guards to be gone for a few minutes. The amount and type of wildfire they used wasn’t enough to destroy the gate, they just wanted it to be seen by the city. In fact all the people who got hurt beside the record hall, were either trampled or went into panic attacks.” Which wasn’t saying anything Jon and the king didn’t know already. Yes, Stannis was right about the damn Gold Cloaks. Robert was not in the mood for ‘I told you sos’ though. The king's voice boomed.

“Tell me you arrested the crooked fuckers!” It wasn’t a question. Fortunately, Bogg had the right answer prepared.

“Yes your grace. We pinched more than four dozen of them, including Janos Slynt as his name kept coming up when we let slip just how badly they fucked up. Give us another four hours and the whole ring should be clear. We have teams combing the city looking for leads. The problem is that some of the suspects might escape during the evacuations. With your permission we’d like to offer bounties to speed things up.” The king’s anger subsided a bit before he responded.

“Spend what you need. And put them fuckers the goddamn black cells when you’re done and don’t give them Stannis’ nice treatment neither.” Jon was skeptical of Stannis’ claims of respectful law enforcement and ‘humane’ imprisonment netting better results, but he was aware that breaking a promise was a bad idea. It seemed that Bogg was of a similar mind and should share the Onion Knight's heraldry for he actually challenged the king.

“Begging your grace’s pardon but ifn you want to add corpral punishment to their sentence you can do that. Prince Stannis has some creative ideas for you and the Hand to choose from. But our reputation with the people depends on us not changing laws and rules up just because we are pissed off at some arse’s stupidity. Plus the goalers and guards have to spend time there. Unlike them gold cloaks they’s loyal to your grace’s salt.” The king stopped a moment and looked at the hand. Then he sighed.

“Fine. Tell Ser Ilyn to break out the Book of Pains. Just make sure they are still sane for their executions.” Bogg bowed and left. The mute Westerland knight had smiled when he heard the name of the tome listing various tortures and execution methods, even though it was more of a ‘trapper portfolio’ with rough ideas than an actual book. Stannis promised to revise the system with whoever was King's Justice personally when he had time. The tongueless man was less amused when Stannis advised that every king’s officer be literate and able to communicate effectively. The portfolio with a ‘universal Westerosi finger cant’ wiped the smirk from the house Payne knight when he realized just how much work was involved in his new office. Ilyn was even less happy with the mandatory bathing and dress code the king decided to enforce staunchly, in part because of people like Ser Ilyn and the fools that refused to use showers.

King Robert looked at the Hand and cursed.

“So Stannis was fucking right about the Gold Cloaks. We need to purge them. How is Ser Bywater’s training coming along?” Knowing better than to argue the point about necessary levels of corruption at this time the Hand answered the question.

“He should be effectively capable of taking over from Stokeworth in another five months. However, I believe we can have another three hundred men properly trained in the new methods in two months.”

“Fine. Tell me Jon, why burn the copper counters?” Arryn looked at his one time ward with a puzzled look. Robert frowned at him with a hurt expression.

“I don’t like counting coppers, but even I know we need records or everyone will steal anything not nailed down. How bad is it?” the king asked in an almost defeated tone. The last word were somewhat harsh, which was understandable as he felt insulted.

Jon replied “We have no idea why thirteen assistants of the king’s scales, keeper of keys, and master of coin were meeting in the records office so early in the morning. In fact, their schedules would normally keep them apart by hours if not days. Unfortunately no one in that room survived and we cant’ exactly be sure who was in the building as there were at least forty other victims. Some of the remains could not be identified by family members and we had to use hearsay descriptions and guesswork.” Robert shook his head as Jon continued his report.

“Almost half of the building went up before we got the fire under control. The water pumps and bucket brigade were instrumental in keeping the fire from spreading.”

Robert interrupted him to ask an obvious question. “Might I ask why there were none of the wildfire sniffing dogs at the gate or the record hall?” The hand frowned and bowed his head, but he owned up to his decisions.

“I convinced Lord Bogg that the gates should be under the jurisdiction of the Gold Cloaks in order to avoid conflict with the ISD. It seemed a paranoid delusion that they would remove them from the gates for any reason as all they had to do was ignore the dogs for anything save wildfire." Inwardly cursing himself for trusting a man who apparently couldn't tell that water was wet the Hand continued.

"From what Allar Deem, one of the captured Dragon Gate gaurds said the wildfire containers were not only well sealed but with some other contraband that some man called ‘Oakshirt’ was bringing out of the city. Deem was under the impression Janos Slynt had a deal with his gate captain him to hold the contraband at the gate in order to squeeze more cash out of the smuggler. The Lion’s gate guard said something similar. The gate captains closed the gates and made a show of doing a ‘security screen’. When the wildfire went up everyone ran and the suspects vanished into the crowd."

"And there are only so many blood hounds that could be spared for the duty and Stannis rightfully prioritized the Red Keep, the street of steel and the most congested parts of the city as priority targets for ‘terrorists’.” Roberts reply was terse as it was short.

“So you fucked up?” 

Lord Arryn couldn’t say anything to that. The kings slumped into his chair. Thousands of people tried to flee the city and a few hundred had been killed or seriously injured. It would have been worse without the evacuation drills, but it was a bad blow to the kings image when he couldn’t protect the capital.

“Leave!” King Robert roared. Lord Arryn left swiftly. Had he been anyone else Jon realized he might have lost his title or his life.

Once the investigation teams found a clue leading to where the mastermind of the attack came from things would only get worse.


	23. Cressen II

**Maester Cressen**  
Storms End,   
Within the same month of the Rhealla’s Wroth capital incident   
‘Machine shop’ Factory   
Ninth month of 283 AC

The aging master couldn’t believe what was in front of him. The design was simultaneously complex yet so obviously simple he was shocked no one had constructed it before. It had two seats on either side of the ‘barrel’ and in front of each seat was a pedal driven crank. The fire control director could fire the weapon directly or set it to fire automatically as he turned or elevated the weapon. Said weapon and its crew were housed in a rotating turret that was comprised of wood and iron pieces. Nothing short of a direct hit from a scorpion bolt or stone would ‘muss their hair’. Ser Donald Noye, chief construction engineer of the steel assembly was discussing one of the new inventions to a group of ‘fngs’. 

“As you lot should know by now there be two ways to win a fight at sea. Ya either ram the poor sod or you put men on his deck and take over. Sure sometimes you get lucky with some fire arrows or a stone breaks up a cheap ship, but fie on betting on lucky shots. Well up to now that is. These Justifiers got adjustable elevators and Myrish eyes on them so you can keep hitting what you aim at.” 

Stannis had so many projects in development that it was often times hard to keep track of them, even though most were still in the ‘research and development stage’. Those included more efficient production of paper, more reliable ink and silvered mirrors (which Stannis was overjoyed to know existed since the Dance). Of course, only vital trade, military and cultural ‘technology’ was being rushed. The ‘valyrian’ organization chart he introduced did go a long way to keeping things on track and him sane, though to be honest he had never seen anything like it during his time in the citadel. With a wry grin he listened as the former smith explained the tactical and strategic concepts of ‘suppression fire’. If Stannis wanted to be humble, the maester wouldn’t ‘blow up his spot’. 

“And while the bolts it fires are smaller than the scorpion, they will suffice to kill rowers at close to medium range. O course they outrange most anything not Myrish and will punch through shields a lot better than a longbow. Not ta mention they shoot faster too.” The man laughed and it was joined heartily by the prentice smiths and half masters that flocked to join the project. It was eerie to see so many high and low born men, and a few women collaborating to build and test weapons of war. Stannis had insisted that the saving of lives and efficiency was more important than any other consideration and that prejudice and stupidity and mindless traditionalism would not be allowed to hinder progress. 

The machine in front of him certainly looked fearsome enough and if it worked as intended in combat he was certain the ‘mindless traditionalists’ would eat crow despite their grumblings about impropriety. 

Cresson noted how his son was focusing and interrupted him with a question he knew the answer to already. The man spent enough time tinkering with things instead of speaking to people. Well people he should be speaking to. The group of engineers walked away to their various tasks as Cresson's son turned to him. Before the maester spoke his mind the "Just Stone" spoke. 

“I bet you're thinking, Why haven’t these been made before now? The designs aren’t that complex” It was a fair question, and one that Stannis had a ready answer. 

“It was probably some informal agreement between Myr and the other free cities. On our end the Citadel and the church probably had something similar.” Once again his second son had read his intentions. Stannis' own were becoming slightly more obvious, but his near death experience had made the middle Baratheon hard to fathom most of the time. Then again Stannis was always solemn and introverted, even before his parents’ demise. Now it was the opposite and the man was full of passion, drive and single minded intensity. A bit too much passion if anyone were to ask Cressen. In his opinion Stannis spent too much time with Makeda and her ‘acolyte’ Shayba. 

But what the master said was “And how do we know these war machines won’t cause them to renege on those agreements and throw these machines at us themselves? Naval warfare could become even bloodier and I dare say the Free cities could make a good deal more of these than us, if not far deadlier designs.” Putting aside the lord’s play time activities with the Summer Islanders for the nonce, Cressen felt it was his duty to explain the downsides to his lords plans. For there were always unintended consequences to even the best and most clever of plans. 

“First I doubt they would have developed them in any great number without others finding out. What that means is any invasion fleet will likely be sporting the same weapons and tactics that were used for hundreds of years. That is the first reason I have the factory here under close supervision, aside from making sure that all the parts fit together consistently. They will outnumber us and thus we need a tactical edge. No one can know about our capabilities before we are ready to strike. With that surprise we will shift the course of this war," said Cresson's second son. 

"To answer your second concern, what they do in response doesn’t matter. It’s unlikely any city will be giving formal aid to the ‘renegades’. War with the seven kingdoms is not attractive to any of the magisters. Further, our envoys should make a reasonable and lucrative series of offers which should further diminish any support of Vary’s little game. Which means the ships will lack access to the best facilities of the free cities and likely be comprised of older ships and sell sails. And since they are throwing everything at us, we shouldn’t hold back either.” Stannis was willing to pay the workers extra to be completely confined under ‘maximum’ security for a matter of four months as an extra security measure. Seeing what happened a few scant weeks after Cresson returned home and the nature of their opponent the aging master could not say that was a paranoid decision. 

The maester clapped and used a congratulatory tone.“Well reasoned, your father would approve of your line of thought. Once battle is eminent undue restraint is cowardice.” And Cresson let the first element of his own strategy play out. He had allowed Stannis to ‘win’ a clear argument based on superior logic, which should appease his pride for the thrust. The older man formulated his words while considering the nature of the ‘secret’ work before him. 

In front of him skilled craftsmen were putting together various type of scorpions and ballistae. They were odd in that many of them were ‘repeating’ and some of them were powered by what Stannis called a ‘chain drive’. Donal Noye had explained that they couldn’t make many of them, especially the larger ones, due to cost and the level of skill required. Stannis and the one armed man spoke about something called ‘standardization’. The maester noticed that involvement in the project had brought the one armed blacksmith-knight out of his depression. Such wounds often turned men to vice and slow death, but Stannis had put the man in charge of procurement, development and secrecy. His duties and the regimen of martial exercise all Stormlander knights sworn to him followed threatened to actually put Noye in better shape than he was in before the start of the war. 

Stannis had thrown himself into this once word of what happened in the capital reached him. Missives from his somewhat lewd Alkebeloni retainers and far less savory Essosi sell sail confirmed his fears and drove his son to push himself harder than Cressen had ever seen. Stannis was possessed of the idea an invasion of the Stormlands was imminent and he would be damned if they would be caught flat footed. Once the siege had been relieved Stannis had politely asked the various castles of the Stormlands to send raven keepers, maester trained or not, to his keep for the establishment of a quick response network. Said network would link a ‘pony express' trail of dispatch riders. The response had be less than speedy, as Cressen had warned, and getting Stannis to accept the reluctance to change had not been easy. In the wake of current events said request had become an order with threats of treason charges for further delays, which the stooping elder surprisingly could not find himself arguing strongly against. 

Stannis had opened up to him about his war plans and involved Cressen deeply in the designs of his tactics and weapons. Maester Cressen had seen similar designs and was happy to aid him in doing this duty, though the old man wondered just how necessary not only the security issues were, but how much Cresson and Noye’s input was. Stannis seemed to be asking them things that he already knew answers for and had explained to them in ways even a well educated noble should be able to. In truth Cresson also wanted to stay close to Stannis so he might offer help with his other challenges. Those being equally difficult decisions, and ones not born of warcraft and politics. The slightly stooping maester turned to his favorite son and spoke in a firm but non threatening or judgmental tone. 

“I would be remiss if I did not bring attention to your somewhat inappropriate conduct with the Summer Islander nobles.” Though to be fair the term noble was a bit of stretch as both Makeda and Sheyba would be considered cadet branches of a petty kingdom by Westerosi standards. Hells, even Jhalabar Xho barely ruled an area half the size of Tarth, even if it generated more real wealth than many parts of the Stormlands combined. 

Stannis turned to him and his face made a rueful half-smile. It was very unlike Stannis, but if he read him properly it seemed to scream and ‘what business of it is yours?’ It was almost as if he were looking at Robert! 

“And what inappropriate conduct have I engaged in? Singing, dancing and speaking with people whose company I enjoy are not in fact crimes. Might I remind you that despite rumors to the contrary I am in fact the lord of Storm’s End?” came his reply. That was the attitude Cressen was looking to avoid and so the maester sighed. 

“Your closest retainers and myself are well aware of how and why you work so closely with the Alkebuloni. But to those who are not it would appear you have taken one or both of them as paramours or worse you intend to marry one of them.” Instead of rage or teeth grinding the man..laughed. But his laugh wasn’t one of mirth. It was a borderline dismissal with the kind of arrogance his older brother was want to display to those he thought foolish. It was a far cry from the man he found in that alcove so few months ago. 

  
Shortly after the execution of the mutinous knights   
Storm’s End 

The guards had let him in without question even his presence might loosely be interpreted as ‘disturbing their lord’s contemplation’. Maesters technically held no rank, however the man who at times had seen the lord’s wife naked more often than the great man himself had quite a lot of authority. Such thoughts of his former lord’s attractive form led to thoughts best no dwelled on, however the events Cressen heard and saw that night were even more awkward and disturbing. 

“Forgive me actually caring about my family. Just because they have some security doesn’t mean they don’t need me!” Stannis wasn’t quite shouting but he was very agitated. It was almost like he was having a conversation with someone who angered him, but didn’t want anyone else to know. 

“Yes I know better than yelling. Really don’t need the guards hearing and thinking I’m as mad as my fucking cousins.” Cressen moved closer the alcove. The maester could be quite stealthy when there was need. All the better to catch naughty children and lazy servants after all. 

“Fine, I’ll focus on the immediate problems. Let’s forget about the John Romero rejects coming south in twenty years or so. We’ve got to finish a war with the mad kings’ wife and children. Then we’ve got to keep a bunch of petty ass nobles from killing each other, which isn’t helped at all by Tywin’s little cunning stunt.” Suppressing a slight giggle from the double entendre (since when did Stannis make sex jokes) he approached slowly and detected the aroma of fresh vomit. It wasn’t strong enough to be on the floor, so it was likely Stannis had enough discipline to use a vase of some kind. Mentally Cresen went through Maester Jonthor’s ‘Ailments of the Mind and Belly’ to diagnose his son. 

“And no I haven’t forgotten about ‘my brother’ being surrounded by all those snakes in the capitol. Or the shit ton of wildfire the mad fucker put underneath them.” The gasp Cressen away. 

“Fuck I thought I told..” Stannis turned around to see the man who was his second father with what Cressen knew was a look of shock, concern and fear. Stannis didn’t look any better as his eyes were red and misery was written across his gaunt features. There was nothing about his son that seemed insane, despite his actions and last statement. All of that only made the old man more frightened. 

“Maester.. what you heard..” The maester cut Stannis off before he could either ignore the problem or brush him away. Cressen put down his cane and placed a hand on Stannis’ arm. Instead of pulling back, the slim yet powerful man allowed the elder’s touch. It seemed to Cressen that his son wanted comfort despite his outward display of standoffishness. So the maester spoke in a non threatening slow tone.

“What I think I heard or not doesn’t matter right now. I need you to know I think of you as my son and you can trust me to never work against you. I want to help you, please tell me what is wrong.” 

The tall man looked down at him for more than a few moments. His features contorted in a variety of ways, some Cresson recognized and more he did not. Anger, disappointment, judgement, but acceptance and what seemed to be relief were there as well. Finally a sly half smile Cressen could not remember seeing in years crossed the right side of Stannis' face. The acting lord of Storm's End spoke in a sardonic way.

“Renly snitched on me didn’t he?” The shock of both the new word and the smile caught him off guard, though Cressen said nothing. Then Stannis laughed before he suddenly became serious again. 

“Made you promise not to tell me? Damn! Am I really that miserable a bastard? No don’t answer that. Renly is a good kid and a better brother than I deserve.” Stannis then sat down in a chair near the offensively smelling vase with his left hand pinching his brow. Cressen wrinkled his nose and chose to appreciate the fact that the man at least was eating something. Not for the last time was the old man surprised for the sounds coming from Stannis were sobs. 

For two whole minutes the chained master was frozen with indecision. At no point did he expect this to happen and he felt an even greater failure than when he held the two boys while Lord Steffan died before them all. Then the man stopped thinking and did what came naturally and he placed one arm around his upper waist. 

“Maester Cr.” Cressen cut the gaunt lord off. 

“Stannis, no one is here and your guards will not disturb us. It is fine and right for a man to grieve no matter what the fools in our society say. When you are ready and if you want to discuss whatever it is I will listen without judgement.” Stannis returned his hug and continued crying for what seemed like ages, though it could hardly have been more than 10 minutes. And while his acidic breath smelled of onions and sausages, at least the man didn’t throw up again. 

When the last sob was heard Stannis looked down at Cressen and told him a very interesting tale. A story of drifting between life and death and growing a form of crystal clarity. Things that Cressen saw as mundane began taking on new meaning. Stannis always had a way of turning disparate pieces of information into useful knowledge. It was this ability that lead men to believe Stannis knew the army size of every lord in Westeros. Of course he did nothing to dissuade them, but it was simply the fact Stannis could read and right well and practiced clear thinking (well most of the time). In a world where scholars were discounted at best he was never as appreciated as his other siblings. 

Stannis went on to describe a plan to win the war and build a stronger ‘Westerosi nation’. 

The way he answered each of Cresson’s questions in a logical and practical way made him realize that Stannis was far from mad. His son had just drastically changed in in his outlook. The man had always been dutiful but now Cresson sensed compassion and commitment to helping others. Only one thing concerned him, and was Stannis seemed completely dismissive about the possible dangers his actions could bring to himself. Well, that was what the old man was there for, to advise and keep him and the other two safe. From themselves as well if need be. 

He was holding his son’s hands on his lap and looking up at him when the tale finally ended. Cressen remembered that scene as it played out when the boy was less than 1 and 10 and it was him looking down. That so much could change and so quickly was something he needed no reminder of, for his bones told the story with every step. 

“If you need my support in any way I will always be here,” Cressen said and squeezed the man who was his son in all but name's hand. Once both of those giant mitts would have fit in one of his own. Now, Stannis could likely pick him up with one arm without trying. Yes Robert got the lion’s share of the strength, but Stannis was by no means a man of average might. Cresson would not let him crawl back into his shell, especially if even half of his theories were correct. 

“Yes father. I won’t try to shoulder all of this myself. I don’t think even I am quite that arrogant right? Wait don’t answer that.” Both of them laughed and the warm feelings between them were strange, but appreciated. Cressen was sure then that whatever problems they faced, even the mention of the alchemists’ madness could be overcome. 

  
Now 

  
Maester Cressen remembered speaking to Renly a week later. The boy was worried and when Cressen pried he finally admitted to being concerned the ‘old’ Stannis would come back. When the maester confirmed that in his opinion it was unlikely the boy smile could have lit up the castle. Well that was before he realized what he did and quickly hid his smile in a poker face, though the look of shame in his yes and red cheeks gave lie to the apology. While Cresson would never be so crude, it was an opinion he shared wholeheartedly. 

Which was why the maester would not tolerate the disrespect in his lord’s tone. Such barely concealed arrogance was no better than what Stannis claimed his opponents directed at others. Between them there was little harm, but such actions in court or worse with Robert might have disastrous results. As they were alone, he felt it was time to escalate. While Cressen doubted he needed to physically strike another of his sons, there were other methods. Thus the aged and crafty man took a deep breath.

“And this is how you respond to me? You are not so grown as to be beyond my strap!” The look of shock of the Storm Lord's face was refreshing. 

“I am your liege not a boy..” began the "Just Stone" but Cressen cut Stannis off. 

“Then you should act like a prince and not a child of six and ten who just discovered his cock was good for more than pissing. If you disagree with my advice or my words then you should remember your own principles and attack the point not the man. I have not disrespected you.” Stannis took a deep breath before speaking. 

“And how have I disrespected you maester? If anything you just falsely accused me of immoral sexual knowledge of a foreign noble.” The look of shock and indignation was a balm to his soul. At least Stannis wasn’t following Robert into his debauched path. 

Cressen wasn't done with his lesson though. The old man harumpphed and said “Your tone implied I was being as thick headed as some of your more stubborn retainers in matters of obvious gain. When in fact I voiced valid concerns. Stannis you should know that opinion of your life matters. I know you haven’t done anything you consider shameful, but you should consider who it is you need to impress and how your actions ill serve your goals.” His son’s blue eyes met his and Stannis' jaw clenched, yet the lord did not grind his teeth. Instead the lanky man's lips pinched and rolled around in circle before Stannis deflated.

“I’m sorry I was rude to you earlier. You did not deserve it. It’s just these lords get on my last nerve. It’s like they don’t understand the danger we face and their stupidity makes my blood boil. But you have to know I haven’t done anything immoral with those two priestesses,” said lord Stannis without aggression. 

The crafty old man placed his right hand on his son's shoulder and replied in small voice “What I know is you have been teaching them fairly seductive dances. What I know is you have spent a good amount of time with them. What I know is that your definition of immoral would not match that of Septon Isabor. What I know is you have made eyes at Makeda from the moment you saw her. And if I noticed it so did Mace Tyrell. The man is bad at warcraft aside from beating people with swords, but he knows courtly games the way you know battles. You say that it all necessary, but keep in mind how others view things and what you want from them.” Cressen fixed the lad with a raised eyebrow and dared him to second guess or refute his accusations. 

Stannis let go of his held breath, but did not escalate. Instead he only stated “And you know I sent Makeda to Dorne. Not to mention I was never alone with either of them in any place conducive to seduction.” Maester Cressen laughed and it was in part at Stannis' naivete. Of course that laugh was similar to Stannis’ earlier one. Cressen raised his hands in mock surrender before he could be called on his hypocrisy by his son. 

“I might add that I wasn’t always so old and seduction doesn’t take so long as you might believe. Barring that Shyba is sill here and while you don’t see her that way, consider how any potential father in law among your lords will view this." Cressen stepped into Stannis' path and looked him square in the eye before speaking again. 

"You are not Robert. Do you want to be compared to him? I’m not going to continue this further but I want you to consider what you want to stand for."


	24. Oberyn I

**Oberyn**.   
Tower of Joy  
In the presence of Lord Stark’s "Rescue" Party  
Tenth Month of 283 AC

Now

  
Ashara Dayne’s right hook came from nowhere and the gallant kingsguard’s jaw rocked to the left. The handsome jaw’s flight was followed by a tooth and about two hundred pounds of tanned skin and white enameled armor as the lot traveled their six feet journey to the sandy ground and a short nap. Oberyn took note and reminded himself not to get on the lady of Starfall’s nerves again.

The memory of that moment almost made this whole journey worth it. Almost..although if he was being honest with himself Oberyn was just being contrary. He didn’t have all that much to complain about. In fact some would say that he had gotten the best deal out of everyone and he smiled at the newly minted Lady Uller. She returned the grin with a sly pout.

The two were having a ‘supposedly secret’ affair. It also had a big affect on his older brother, who was largely responsible for the expedition’s arrangements. The man Stannis was definitely cut from the same cloth as his brother. Wheels within wheels and they all spun to a tune Oberyn found dizzying. But at least the storm lord could put on a show.

  
The concert   
Sunspear

  
Their costumes were changed multiple times during the concert. They ranged from near military uniforms to glamorous nobility to barely there at all. What was evident to all watching the summer islanders and their accompanying performers was their skill and professionalism. Their songs, and the politicking behind the scenes had probably changed the lives of many people including his own. The Red Viper only hoped that change was for the better.

He was sorry Xendo couldn’t join them on the boat ride to Starfall. The Red Viper really hoped the stick in the mud Stark enjoyed his talents on their travels. A part of him didn’t think Stark could appreciate song and dance any more than he could the pleasures of the flesh. From what he heard Eddard didn’t press his advantage with Ashara Dayne and it was his brother that won the tilt. A pity the man didn’t learn from his mistakes. Sure Oberyn was paying for his boldness, but it was increasingly hard to label it a punishment the more he thought about it. Though being on the dais when that song was playing was embarrassing. Whoever that "Aliyah" bard was had better never enter Sunspear. Doran had calmed him by saying 'Are you that someone' was a harmless melody about a shy woman confessing a crush.

As if anyone listening wouldn’t understand that Stannis was pointing out the affairs between himself and many women. That included Elaria Sand, Lord Uller’s bastard daughter. The turntable sound that imitated a baby’s crying was not funny to him, though more than a few people laughed. Stannis was truly a devious bastard to pay him back for their earlier insults in such a way that his brother wound up paying the people responsible. To be fair from what he heard Stannis was sticking his brother in much the same way for his own whore mongering. So there was that at least.

Was Stannis offering marriage counseling? In private Makeda acted like a priest in a confessional helping wine sots and wife beaters become better men. Of course that was fitting as she was a sex, no love priest. She knew a lot about life, love and the kinds of pain bad choices in both can lead to. Both he and Elaria truly respected her, which was another reason he simply wouldn’t put a few drops of something not quite deadly in her tea. The other was the woman knew enough about herb lore to retaliate.

Oberyn wasn’t surprised his brother Doran took the lovely priestess up on the offer when she left their room a few nights later. Of course Makeda would probably keep her clothes on in their company. Doran and Mellario weren’t quite as open as Oberyn and Elaria were. And thinking about Lady Uller reminded him of why he was so upset in the first place, fucking Stannis managed to sting him from across the narrow sea. He even used his brother to do it!

“Oberyn I’ve been thinking about you,” the ruling Prince of Dorn had said. From those words the Red Viper knew it was doom.

“Brother, please don’t tell me you are bowing to the court rumors or the damn Iron thro..” His brother raised his hand for silence and Oberyn knew, just knew it.

Doran had laid into him that night.“Prince Stannis can’t control me any more than he can his brother’s cock. However, I can decide for myself when I have had enough of your antics! It is time for you to grow up and help me govern our people.”

“I let you do whatever you wanted for over twenty years. I think I have earned your unconditional support in important matters.” Somehow Oberyn’s gouty brother had made him feel shame. Him of all people?

”Brother I went out and learned valuable skills..” He was cut off again by a now angry Doran.

“And what have you done with your Maester’s training? Are you still managing your mercenary company? Is it making any money? Do you even know or care? The only thing you have done with any consistency is spend money traveling around, sleeping with any woman who takes your fancy and making bastards.” At that Oberyn snapped.

“It is my right to find pleasure with whom ever will have me. You are not my father despite the fact you rule our home. I have my own incomes and I can do with them as I please.” His brother didn’t try to cut him off, as when the Viper’s temper took him it wouldn’t have mattered.

“And when your stupidity hurts this family?” was all Doran said. Oberyn was about to give voice to a cutting insult, but something call it divine intervention stayed his tongue.

“Ah yes you remember the young woman Lord Yronwood was seeing. You just had to sleep with the mistress of our most bitter rival Oby. And if that wasn’t enough you had to kill the man. Really? I understand he was an old arse playing a young arse but did he need to die so you could pretend you won the girl?” said his brother in the most infuriating way he knew how.

“Did you marry her? Was the woman you killed a man over even important enough to you to consider marriage? Was she even you paramour long enough to give you a child?” Oberyn couldn’t say anything in reply except the obvious question.

“And how does this hurt our family?” The Red Viper already knew the answer, but he knew his brother wanted to hear him ask the question. It was a weird philosophy thing he did, but everyone in their family had a quirk. Oberyn poisoned his enemies’ bodies while Doran drove them mad with his over complicated plots.

“He demanded a price aside from your short exile. That will be my son Quinton as a page. Do you realize what position that puts me in? Not only do I look weak by giving a hostage to them; my wife didn’t speak to me for nearly four month when I brought it up. Unlike you Oberyn I have a wife I love and a stable family!” Then his brother Doran actually got up from his chair. Though it must have been painful the elder Martel walked right up to his face. Oberyn could smell the roast leaks on his breath and feel the barely contained rage emanating from his brother's eyes. To tell the truth it was like being next to another sun.

“I am also responsible for keeping the families of my subjects alive. This means I must take responsibility for your lack there of.” Not spoken aloud but, Stannis’ indirect rebuke was comparing him to a certain other now deceased mercurial prince whose name did not need to be mentioned. Yes Oberyn knew he was doomed then and there, even before the Lord of house Martel opened his mouth again.

“I feel its time you learned what that was like. I know you take care of your children Oberyn, but that isn’t enough for you to truly understand what my sacrifice means.”

Which is how Oberyn ended up in the luxery cabin of the swan ship Devine Dove with the arms of his soon to be fiancée wrapped around him. At least Doran had given him the ‘freedom’ to choose when he would propose to her and the method. He had until they returned with Lyanna Stark to get her to agree and from the looks of her eyes and the fact she had been granted undisclosed lands ‘Lady’ Uller was in on it. Oberyn’s other side was occupied by Makeda whose devilish smile mirrored her own.

Fine, it wasn’t exactly so horrible and he wouldn’t poison Stannis when he saw him in person. The man had even volunteered to come to Dorne to supervise the construction of something he called a ‘Resort Casino’ in the new ‘City of Shade’ he would set up on Ghaston Grey. The man said it would make everyone rich, which would be great as the charter named Oberyn as a partner. No, Oberyn wouldn’t be poisoning him. He was known as the Red Viper not the Stupid Snake.

  
A little later  
Starfall

  
When they arrived in Starfall they found out that they weren’t exactly the first guests there. The High Garden group was lead by Alerie Tyrell nee Hightower with the dread Olenna Tyrell as 'advisor'. When the roses said they were there only per instruction of Prince Stannis it was obvious to Oberyn the man knew far more than he let on. Especially as the so called Queen of Thorns seemed to pay the Storm Prince more the usual amount of back handed compliments.

The ‘official’ envoy of the Prince, one Ser Cortnay Penrose took over the formal diplomacy. The bald large red bearded man slipped a few letters to Lord Dayne and his daughter, who probably had already figured out what exactly was happening by the sudden explosion of guests. Within a few hours all of them made plans to travel further up the river and make the Princes’ pass. Ravens were given flight and they were met at Night Song with a load of supplies and fresh mounts. What they needed goat hair, clay and brick for was beyond him, but he had seen Makeda’s healing skills and made sure she had what was asked for.

It was easy to reach the tower before Lord Stark or anyone else with about 20 men, though only Oberyn and the highborn rode out to meet the white swords. Oberyn was glad to find out that Stannis could be wrong about something. There weren’t a well dug in small army requiring an elaborate assault and they were not mindless fanatics who needed to be beaten into submission for their own good. In fact the three kingsgaurd and one ‘midwife’ were fairly reasonable. Whether that was due to the family/overlord connection, Stannis’ flowery language, the fact that their cover was in effect blown, the wildfire plot aftermath, the four hundred men that were surrounding them or the increasingly sick Lyanna Stark; Oberyn would never know. One thing was certain, none of them wanted a Lannister queen and that was clear to happen if something ill befell Lyanna. So they reached an agreement, no one would wear weapons in the tower of joy and only relatives or ‘medical workers’ would be allowed entry.

  
Shortly before now  
The Tower of Joy

  
There really wasn’t much excitement afterwards. Stannis’ healers saw to the pregnant wolf handily. Makeda used the strange collection of supplies to build what she called an ice pit. They used it and the herbs they brought to bring Lady Stark’s fever under control. Of course that wasn’t the exciting part. That came after Makeda and her team proclaimed Lyanna’s life was no longer in danger. 

The Dayne siblings had always been close, but Oberyn knew that ‘close’ often meant close to killing one another. He clutched his soon to be fiancée to his side as they saw the Starfall siblings have yet another row.

Ashara laid in on her brother. “So please explain to me why none of you bothered to bring a maester with you on your little camping expedition? Better yet what the hells were you thinking not getting help? If Lyanna had died Robert might have just invaded our lands to personally spike our entire family’s heads on pikes.”

“Our prince ordered us to secrecy and…” Ashara cut him off with a slap on the arm.

”You were just going to sit there while the woman you helped hold hostage died in pain because another woman you helped kidnap didn’t have the training or tools to save her?” Those were good points Lady Dayne was making. Looking at a sibling dress down from the outside certainly gave The Viper a new perspective on his brother’s frustration.

Arthur caught her next arm slap in his left hand before saying “Asha, think about it. I couldn’t go to anywhere nearby because my eyes and accent would give me away and the others stick out even more because they aren’t even Dornish.” Those were good points in Oberyn’s view, but they wouldn’t save the Sword of the Morning just now.

“And you couldn’t trust your kidnapee not to run away or tell anyone. I’m just happy you didn’t kill her after cutting the babe out,” said his purple eyed sister in a scathing voice.

“That’s not fair. I couldn’t reach out to anyone, even father. We both know that Doran would not be happy with the situation and for all we knew...” Arthur stopped talking and glanced in Oberyn’s direction when he didn’t think the prince knew. When they forbade Oberyn from the birthing room despite him having earned more than a few medical links Oberyn wasn’t offended. 

After all The Red Viper had killed a few men with poisoned weapons. And yes there were some lords who would gladly start a war via murdering the baby of the woman many blamed for insulting his sister. Yet Oberyn drew the line at insinuating Prince Doran would murder a barely grown woman and her child because of another man’s obsession with prophesy.

“I believe you should rephrase that statement Ser. And quickly.” Oberyn’s voice was low and without gravel but the threat was obvious. Principle banner man, Kingsgaurd or not Oberyn feared no man alive. Oberyn respected a few like his brother, Lord Stark and possibly Prince Stannis, but he was deadly before the Sword of the Morning grew hair on his balls.

Ser Gerold Hightower cut in before things could escalate.

“Prince Oberyn I mean no disrespect, but how were we supposed to know if Doran would place his honor above placating the blood debt owed to Elia? Many people blame King Aerys and Prince Rheagar as much or more for their losses than Tywin and the usurper.” Somewhat mollified Oberyn allowed himself to be pulled back to his seat by his paramour. 

The Viper said “Fair enough Lord Commander. However, I should like it to be known we don’t kill children in Dorne and if you should like to keep peace between us you may wish to avoid insulting the brother of the man who went through this much trouble to keep you three upstanding paragons of chivalry alive.” At that the Queen of Thorns snickered. "See, I can take notes", Oberyn thought to himself as he met the vicious tongued woman's eyes briefly.

With honor points tallied the siblings returned to their discussion, which boiled down to Ashara reaming out her brother and him giving lackluster replies.

“That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t have a master and proper supplies laid out in Rheagar’s little love nest. He had over 7 moons to get ready and even longer if they were planning this together during their secret communications. Your silver prince did realize how birthings happen I hope.” her acid tongue continued its assault to everyone’s amusement save poor Ser Arthur’s.

“And even if he didn’t, when you agreed to help him with this foolishness I expected you to use the brains the gods gave you. Oh wait I forgot, when the Warrior handed out sword skills he bumped the Crone and Father making them drop your portion of sense.”

“Rhaeagar was preoccupied and..” She didn’t let him finish.

“You were all too busy shining your armor to think about how your actions hurt other people? We all know what the prince was doing while his father burned folks and his men were dying in combat.” There were snickers from most of the people who could hear. When Ser Gerold Hightower sought to intervene again his niece smacked him in the back of his head. Ser Went wisely made no motion and sat down. 

“Look Shara there are things you can not understand. Men have.” That was far as Arthur got before his sister hauled back and knocked him out with a punch to his chin. As the Sword of the Morning was being carried off by his commander she shook her fist.

“Ow, your jaw is hard as your head.” the purple eyed beauty said. Oberyn stared hard at the young heir with the red beard before winking at him. Taking the hint Stannis’ ‘voice’ approached the silver haired lady and offered to get her some ice to wrap around her knuckles. Oberyn snorted before his soon to be wife elbowed him in the ribs. At least some men north of Wyl could learn.

All that was left was to wait for Lord Stark to arrive. Oberyn’s riders had come back from Kings Grave and it seemed Stark had finished his brother’s errands ahead of schedule. Reports indicated that their party had deployed a very large number of nasty tricks he never thought of. The Red Viper’s estimations of Stannis Baratheon continued to improve. Should the Prince of Storms End deliver the justice he all but promised Oberyn could very well see making a few exemptions to his belief in the quality of Storm landers.


	25. Osmond II/Jacelyn I

**Osmond Morton**  
Kings landing  
After “Rhaella’s Wroth”  
Ninth Month of 283 AC  


The fire had been horrible. Which why the former assistant treasurer thanked the seven and every other god he knew that his common sense told him not to stick around for their 'final meeting'. Osmond had seen the gathering of people and the lamp lighting up their meeting and something just clicked. Why did they need to see each other's faces all of a sudden? Why would that help the spider or ram be more efficient? It seemed the walk to his place of work calmed down his frayed nerves and brought clarity where there had only been panic. It was why Osmund passed the device onto one his associates and instructed him to start the meeting once the water clock passed ten minutes. 

It was a shame the other dozen or so of his erstwhile compatriots in theft didn't figure it out. He couldn't and would never know which of the men he saw gathered were true Targaryen loyalists, opportunistic scoundrels or men caught amidst their vices. What he did know was that the spider was notorious for not leaving loose ends and as none of the people he saw were irreplaceable, Osmond did not want to be among their number for a 'final' mission. Thus, Morton had started running as soon as he passed the door. He ignored the curious looks various assistants and servants gave him as he reached the stables. Osmond took the first horse available, and didn’t look back. The roar of the flames was insidious and he barely got out of the building before he saw the tongues of fire stretch out from the windows to lick at his heels.

As his stolen steed thundered down the paved cobblestones the crooked money man thought of what he should do next. There was no going back to work or home, Varys' men would very well be there to finish the job. He seriously hoped Varys didn’t visit punishment on Cesna, Osmor and baby Ciana for his sins. However, there was little he could do about it in any rate and dying with them wouldn’t change their fate. 

No, he would go to an old friend’s house borrow some money and lay low. Osmund wasn’t sure who survived to report his questionable behavior, but he didn’t know what else to do. 

  
40 minutes later

  
The world was on fire, and people were running in every direction. Osmond made it to the home of a ‘friend’ he hadn’t seen in years. It was unlikely Varys knew they were connected at all.

He wondered what went through Rugen Hill's mind as he looked at the disheveled Osmond in front of his family’s door. Another lifetime ago the two of them were simple prentice boys in master Tye Hanmore’s waynewright supply depot.

“Rugen, you must help me. They burned down the hall of records and I don’t know who to trust.” For a moment he was worried Rugen would toss him out to meet his fate. But the old friendship was true and a smile graced his lips.

“The gates are on fire, Stannis' frogs arresting the fucking gold cloaks as fast as the flames coming outta the dragon pit. Everything’s gone to hell. Come in man and have something to eat. You look like hell!” was all his faithful friend said as a comforting arm bent around Osmond's aching shoulders.

____________________

**Lord Jocyln Bywater**  
The day after Rhealla’s Wroth  
King’s Landing  
Ninth Month of 283 AC  


The newest lord commander of the Kings Landing ' Unified Municipal Constabulary' didn’t sleep more than six hours of the last thirty and it showed in the unkempt beard and his un-usually unpolished hand. It was a long shot, but some of the suspects might not have had time to escape or were so cocky they felt that they did not need to run. Another frightening thought was that they had further mischief in mind and were hiding. Thus 'Lord Commander Bywater' shouted at his most effective subordinates.

“Oi Bogg twins, tell me you have something good to say!” The cousins, who had even less sleep turned to him with mock outrage. The older one, Leyton raised an eyebrow but smiled in his normal good natured way.

“Keep your kit hitched, it’s worth it mate.” His cousin Harlen took a breath and with a flourish presented a small stone. Bywater was used to their antics and had little patience after being yelled at by the King.

“Ok Harlen what makes that black stone so special? I’m sure you are dying to explain some crannog magic but our hides are on the line here.” The king was quite.. displeased by their failure to prevent this tragedy, whose death toll seemed to hover around four hundred. And an unhappy Robert was like to do any number of things like cut your funding or invent a 'creative' punishment. His fellow investigator dropped his smile and spoke plainly. Harlen didn’t take his tone as an insult though, as everyone had been on edge.

“Yesterday Sergeant Peat ran into one of them kids he suspected o being one of Varys’ and slipped one o these in his back pocket. It might look like a stone but its really a piece o hard shyte dipped in a few of da’s secrets.” His cousin Leyton completed his sentence.

“Ya, you and me can’t smell anything but hounds like ol Bess here can track this baby for six leagues.” It wasn’t that Lord Bywater wasn’t impressed, because these crannog folk were geniuses when it came to tracking, slight o hand and dirty tricks, but he was too tired.

“So what did you find? You wouldn’t be loafing around here preening like a pair of peacocks unless you already did the legwork and found me something for Robert to beat with his hammer.” Bywater said matter of fact like. Harlen took over the conversation again.

“So what do you think Peat and the boys ran into, but one of the soft man’s ‘safe houses’. And what should he find but a pair of pants and drawers. The youngin dinna burn them, likely cuase he figured on nae being in the city by the time we found em. He, poppa always said sloppy work, sloppy mind.” Harlen shook his head and finished the thought.

“With his pants we ran down where he was earlier and later. Turns out ‘e paid a visit on one Osmund Morton, assistant to the King’s counter. Said bastion o loyal service received the young man early in the wee hours o the morning and simply walked out of his family, not to be seen again.” Lord Bywater smiled, because his friends were on a roll.

“And I take it such unusual activity was not restricted to the late Morton?” the one handed man asked. The elder Bogg fielded the answer.

“In that you’d be correct. We spoke to the families o’ a good number of the king’s money men. A good fifteen o’ them been acting mighty strange in the last few weeks. What’s more a few survivors, including a guard described some of them walking in yesterday even though they don’t normally come in at that time.” Leyton’s near identical cousin Harlen interrupted him.

“Tell him the part o how good old Osmun’s wife saw ‘em put a metal pot in his bag before Osmond stormed off.” And that was the trigger. The image came together in Jacelyn's mind, Varys’ silencing anyone who might be able to link the eunuch to some scheme. What exactly was going one Bywater still couldn’t fathom, but he would.

“So now we can prove the spider is involved, but what was the play?” said the one armed law man turning back to Layton.

“We kept tracking him till he hit the sewers where the dogs lost the scent. But, we did find other clothes and we tracked them other safehouses.” said the elder Bogg.

“And? You had to nab at least a few of his agents” the chief investigator said with growing impatience. The cousins like to show off a good deal too much.

Harlen spoke in a frustrated voice. “That’s the tragic part, the ones we think knew something up and died in custody. We found bodies in the sewer too. Some had slit throats or assassins’ rope burns. And damn strangest thing on some o the rest we’rnt a mark on em. We think it was some kind of slow poison.” The younger Bogg made a face and continued.

“Ifn I had to guess, the spider took the ones he could still use and the dead ones was them that either couldn’t make back to him in time or he saw as a security risk.” The slight man handed him a written list, organized by age of operative and sex. The people involved ranged from age 8 to 30. Where they could find more information such as likely cell structure or relation it was added, but there was still too much guesswork for Bywater’s tastes. Still it was pretty damn good for a group where 1 of 3 investigators couldn’t read or write.

“So we don’t have any actual leads?” Bywater sighed while he rubbed his head. The Stormlander counted more than 40 names of the deceased and even though they were enemies so many had been depressingly young. How many children would never see another day due the desire for that fucking iron chair? Seven alone knew how many more people his men didn’t find, bodies entombed in walls or cut into food for rats or worse. Jossy and his investigators would never eat a bowl of brown again.

There was some good news as Leyton said “I didna say that friend. We have a lead on the alchemist who we think made the piss.”

“So why are waiting here?” was all Jacelyn could say. Of course Harlen snickered and put his boss in his place.

“Relax Jossy. We had to check the building for more of that damn shyte. You don’t wanna another toasting right? They shoulda named you hasty” 

Accepting the well earned rebuke Jossy listened to their action plan as the trio walked. That contact flash during the first wildfyre scare could have killed the leader of the Holy Hundred and while Jacelyn respected the brave, pious man he did not want scars matching Bonnifer the Good and The Hound. That and Bywater was determined to live long enough to see the Eunuch lose his other head.

  
About an hour and forty minutes later  
Home of former Wisdom Antome

  
They came in from the window and the roof. Prior to that Antome was asleep courtesy of some ether/poppy mixture pumped into his bedroom via bronze tube inserted through the floor. Gas rises which made the nasty little mix of Stannis science and Crannogman cunning so dangerous. It would seem their paranoia was justified when Sergeant Peat found a few nasty booby traps in his home, a suicide note and a various poisoned items including a ring and hollow tooth. 

When Antome awoke he was less than pleased to be in the presence of law enforcement.

“I will tell you savages nothing! Long live the guild of Alchemists! Long live King Aerys! Death to the Usurper and his dogs!” the pudgy man screamed. He was also none to pleased to lack any of his various methods of self destruction. 

“Fair enough Wisdom Antome. You don’t like the king or his friends. What does that have to do with burning down the hall of records and scaring haft the city? Almost five hundred people died in your bonfire. Not to mention a bunch of your friends died from the same kind of poison we found in your home. A home paid for by your friend Varys.” There was shock in the former wisdom’s face, but Bywater couldn’t tell from what. Neither could his Bogg associates.

The near naked suspect sputtered “What about the hall of records? That had nothing to do with me. The fires I lit will wake the kingdom up to the truth and remind them of their true liege King Viserys!” Jossy tuned the madman out after that. The note in the 'wisdom's' room spoke of some group called D.R.A.G.O.N whose goal was a Targaryen restoration. Bywater left the madman with Sergeant Peat and he went to speak to the small man’s cousin. Said man looked like him and was the third son of the lord of the house with the same name.

“Lord Peat this fat fool is just a patsy. Whatever Varys was really up to isn’t that obvious. Sure some people will be mad at King Robert for the breach of security, but most will be angrier at Viserys and Rhaella.” The smaller man looked at him and smiled before speaking.

“Might be this is my first time in a city, but I am not so naïve. Folks are fickle and lets just say I don't think the spider is done with surprises yet. However, I might have some betta news for you. It just so happens my investigators talked to Osmond’s wife and we found out that not all rats flee a sinking ship. And that sometimes blackmailers slip up too.” Bogg turned around and gestured. Then a disheveled man with frayed clothing led in by a pair of strapping Umber guards.

"Good Lord Bywater may I present one Osmond Morton." said the lord of an actual ancestral holding with a slight bow. A smile crept up the Storm lander's face without him realizing it.


	26. Illyrio I, Os I, Jonothor I, Os II, Bellweather II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Si enters the battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment

Hello again readers. I will now merge the timeline by large chunk instead of small pieces. You will still get some new characters, but I hope to reduce a bit of confusion doing it this way.  
  
  
  
 **Illyrio Motapis**  
Manse of Illyrio Motapis, Pentos  
Seventh Month of 283  
(Letter arrives early in 8th Month of 283)  
  
  
A large man put his pen to paper. A million thoughts passed through the wealthy trader’s mind as he contemplated exactly what words to put down. Coding messages was always more his long time associates’ forte, but this close to the endgame Illyrio would not fail due to laziness on his own part.  
  
Thus Motapis opened a small book he kept in a locked chest and went over the current position marker ‘algorithm’ and wrote the lines he knew would warn his compatriot of another dangerous obstacle in their plans. Motapis wasn’t worried per se, as Varys had dealt with at least a half dozen such individuals, but Stannis was significantly more competent than any save that.. woman.  
  
  
  
  
Good afternoon my old friend, there are many things I need to inform you of. First and foremost you should know the quality of the new players in our game is not what you would expect at all.  
  
Recently I was visited by representatives of some trading consortium out of Lys. They were highly recommended by one I later found out to be an indirect associate of Sampodo Saan. A few of them were summer Islanders and among them was a wonderfully charming woman. She could sing the most amazing melodies and move her body with divine grace. As you know me, we spent a good number days commiserating on various topics.  
  
At various intervals in our brief acquaintance she and her artistic friends plied me with very fine wines and exotic foods. In exchange I may have divulged some of my youthful indiscretions, though heavily edited and distorted in an attempt to impress them. Her friend also seemed quite interested in my frame and I allowed her to sketch both me and the statue I keep in my lawn.  
  
As we did very good business and nothing either of them said or did was exactly out of the ordinary, save the request to sketch my statue, it seemed perfect innocent. Just a couple of rich summer islander women seeking to experience the ‘wilds’ of Pentos before returning home to roost. That is, until I took the time to think about our time together more critically. They purchased the debt of a few of my older slaves and did the same with four of the other houses they did business with. Again, such was not strange as the older ones usually were less expensive and they seemed to think we ‘Essosi’ were too simple to realize they wanted to free them.  
  
Frequently outsiders, especially Westerosi and Summer Islanders, consider themselves saviors. As though being a ‘free’ servant in their households is a superior fate. The newly freed men and women had best find someone to take care of them in their old age, once whatever secrets they have to trade for become stale. And while I did realize that such tactics also served as means of gathering useful gossip for trade and or blackmail I did not really consider it until I realized when those servants would have been with me and those other houses. Said time frame covered the period of the great summer sickness brought on by rat borne fleas and the end of the last Blackfyre rebellion.  
  
There are also rumors of a small trade house that has branches along the narrow sea. Any port of sufficient size has at least one representative available. I believe you know them as the house of the Black Hart. I trust this information will be useful to you.  
  
Sincerely.  
Gouda  
  
  
  
The letter would serve its purpose in multiple ways. It’s wording was loaded with meanings only the two of them would understand in context. To anyone else it would seem a missive between friends discussion the possible exposure of some sexual escapade. With the way most fetishized Essosi and the Eunuch they might even assume a sexual liaison between the old friends. Illyrio snickered and applied the measured frame over his missive to ensure it complied to the rule. And he was rewarded for his diligence by seeing the real message emerge.  
  
He put the letter down and considered just how much information he might have let slip. The strongly built man stroked his forked beard and decided to take a trip to Volantis.  
  
  
  
 **Os**  
A small manse  
Rosby  
Eighth Month of 283 AC  
  
  
Three people sat in comfortable chairs near a coal fueled fireplace sipping something Bellweather said was called “Eclipse Sake.” It was some rice drink the color of midnight with the consistency of slightly muddy water due to the black rice grain pulp still present. It was both the sweetest thing Os had ever tasted and more potent than any strong wine he had heard of. And seeing as how he had ‘worked’ in the Free Cities that meant something. It burned the back of his tongue, sending pain and pleasure throughout his upper palate. After the twenty three year old former little bird swallowed the fire spread down his chest. A part of Os believed he might actually be able to breath fire, and worse the other part feared he would certainly regret making water.  
  
Predictably Os began sputtering. Varys in his Shep disguise patted him on the back.  
  
“Careful. Enjoy it slowly, there is no rush. We really wouldn’t want you to choke or for there to be complications.” Os suddenly tensed up, remembering the day his Lyseni magister father lost everything, including the freedom of himself and family. Then came the bidding pens, separation from his mother and finally the man with the tongs when Morolo Jursio struggled too vehemently as the rich merchant pawed at his small thighs.  
  
“No Shep, we wouldn’t want that at all. Not when we are on the cusp of our ascension,” replied the experienced intelligencer formerly responsible for organizing their operations in the eastern part of Lys. Os shut out everything related to his past, especially the name of that boy with his irresponsible greedy father and a mother who suffered the fate she frequently forced other women to endure. No, Os only had one family now, one faith and one purpose. Sensing his resolve and loyalty the bald man nodded in his direction with respect but their banter was cut off by the woman in the ram’s mask.  
  
“Shep, your concern for our fellow is touching and I congratulate Os on earning his ‘reward’ and promotion. But can we please focus on the business at hand? Preferably before we all become to sauced to think properly,” said Bellweather in a no nonsense voice that held more than a bit of sarcasm. The doctrinal differences between her and her ‘uncle’ were well known. Os could respect her way of looking at things, but Varys’ ruthlessness had its place. The younger man guessed it might be mostly due to the different types of operations Os and Bell dealt with and the specialized training they received. Despite her feminine look Bell was exceptionally fit and well practiced in martial arts, strategy and statecraft.  
  
“Oh very well. I was simply trying to inspire a greater sense of gravitas before we all carried out our final tasks here. I must say I’ll miss Varys a great deal. As you say my dear, he was fairly despicable, but there was something about him that truly made people want to hold onto higher ideals,” said his old mentor, rescuer and now redeemer. Os knew why Bell was upset, but ‘Varys’ truly was a man of his word to those who kept faith with him and did not become absolute liabilities.  
  
“Even though those people knew just how hypocritical those holding their loyalties were? Excluding us present of course,” said the young woman as she smirked; the motion not reaching her currently blue eyes.  
  
Bellweather was more agitated than they young spymaster had ever seen her, and Os had worked with her in both Esssos and Westeros. True it would take a very skilled hand to detect that emotion in the slight creases of the small woman’s brow, but it was there in spades. The smoldering rage simmering in her green eyes was also a tell. The observant young man knew he was tangentially the cause of her ire and Os was glad the other man was its primary focus.  
  
The master of master spies spoke again. “Of course my honest compatriots. Though we should possibly consider amending that list to include our new Prince. He seems to genuinely encourage the best in people while conforming to both the letter and spirit of justice. From the Serpent to the Squid I don’t believe we will be able to actively influence them to follow the original plan. Therefore our presence in the capitol is no longer cost effective”  
  
Bellweather curtly said “Meaning the letter from our friend out east means we need to make haste or our window of ex-filtration will expire.”  
  
“And us alongside it. Stannis unlike many other players has no compunction against using means both mundane and arcane to root us out. As I have told you logic and preparation combined with a bit of technical expertise can defeat almost any magic, so one who can employ multiple methods with intelligence should not be trifled with. Fortunately, his nature makes Stannis the perfect tool to complete our plans.” Shep raised his left hand, the one with the ruby ring signet of his office. The ring Varys almost never wore in public, to silence Bell with a swift gesture loaded with religious significance.  
  
“Without further preamble, Os please report on the state of the Riverland’s campaign.” Os nodded at his overlord with reverence.  
  
“I will start with our communication with Ser Jonothor Darry. He was able to discern the nature of my glamour, however to the best of my knowledge he did not expose it. Jonothor desires an ex-filtration to Essos and funds to begin a new life at the end of this conflict. Other than that he seems willing to play along with our agenda. Despite our rocky start I feel this relationship is viable.”  
  
The rest of the discussion went just as well as Os’ slightly modified report on his partial failure. There was no way Os would admit to crying like a little girl when the Kingsguard punched him in the figs after all. When Os was done the former mute gave his recommendations. While Varys was the undisputed leader the eunuch didn’t make such decisions without at least quorum. It was bad policy and the lesson ‘no one was infallible in judgement’, had literally been beaten into Os’ head too often to forget.  
  
Os spoke clearly and with conviction, largely for Bells peace of mind. “I trust you both agree that full collapse and withdrawal is optimal. It is only a matter of time before Stannis has enough assets in place to nullify any potential edge we have within the capital and it surrounding area. After that he will begin a sweep.”  
  
Varys took up from there “All assets we can not be fully sure of need to be evacuated, released with false information, compromised or eliminated. I think you know where I stand with the distribution, though I will heavily consider your input. You both have each earned that much of my trust and respect.” After a long moment and a hard stare Bellweather spoke with finality.  
  
“I concur. As much as I would like to continue operations here another four months such is not feasible. An immediate withdrawal after operation Sable would serve to waste Stannis’ time and energy looking for attacks and agents that don’ exist. He simply can’t afford to think he got all of us.”  
  
Varys chirped in with one of his famous titters “Now now friends. We can still have some non affiliates make half assed attempts to keep them guessing.” they each laughed.  
  
He continued “In any event let us savor the last drops of this fine spirit. For on the morn lord willing we never see that stinking pile of stones called Kings Landing ever again!” And they did drink heartily. When they finished each one departed for their next assignments.  
  
“Varys” would be seen to board a ship heading toward Dorne. Shep would see about ‘final’ assignments for the operatives in the city of Kings’ Landing. Bell was responsible for everyone else in the immediate vicinity and transport for the ones judged sufficiently loyal and useful. Those who knew nothing harmful would be fed misinformation and given coin. The loyal but useless would be paid off and sent to Essos. The rest would receive their own proper reward.  
  
  
  
 **Jonothor Darry**  
Near Fair market  
Riverlands  
Sixth Month of 283 AC  
  
  
It was a beautiful day by any account. There was a cool breeze blowing along the Trident turning the muggy heat into something approaching a tropical kiss. With the lack of storms it was the perfect weather for lovers, young or old to picnic and enjoy each others company. The kingsgaurd smiled ruefully thinking of the last time he kissed a maid fair or foul; or even shared a dance at a court function. Such simple pleasures seemed a lifetime ago and a whole other world away.  
  
The Red Fork glowed with dawn’s golden light and the even the hellish mosquitoes that plagued man and horse alike seemed like fairy lights floating among the reeds. This part of of the Riverlands was as yet virtually untouched by the fighting. Just yesterday Jon and his friends watched a flight of heron nesting along the west bank. Their supple colorful bodies were grace personified when they took flight as one. It was a rare sight of beauty and normalcy. Such days were blessings each member of Darry’s growing fellowship appreciated and Jon himself never forgot he needed to hold onto.  
  
The clash of Lamentation against the upper third of his recent opponent’s great sword brought Ser Jon back fully into the moment. Darry’s smile turned feral as he considered the latest person to join his dance que. The previous five were now laying in various positions around him; either unmoving or entering shock due to rapid exsanguination.  
  
Unlike the surrounding dead men, at least Ser Karyl Vance knew better than to try and fight a valyrian steel blade without a reach advantage. While Darry was a good half a foot taller and at least ten years younger that big piece of steel gave the elder knight at least four inches of extra reach. Jon reconsidered his options and entered the Lady’s Guard. With his left shoulder facing the opponent and standing with casual ease Jon understood why this stance was considered provocative. Between the aggressive training most martial men received, the tantalizing prospects of owning a priceless heirloom and the prestige of being able to say they slew a kingsgaurd Jon was not surprised at what happened next.  
  
“Heh! Me thinks you white swords are a bit too full of yourselves.” said the heir of Wayfarer’s Rest before he moved into an attack. While the forty something year old knight did launch his vertical slash at Darry’s shoulder, Karyl was in full control and his breathing steady. The Kingsgaurd noted his opponent’s false impulsive action, which is why Darry was not fooled when Vance shifted his hold on the pommel a second later and turned the strike into a near parallel attack on Darry’s right poleyne*1.  
  
Such a powerful blow, even with a ‘heavy’*2 two handed weapon wouldn’t cut through the fine Qohoric forged steel. However a great sword strike likely would bend it enough to hobble Darry’s movements. Once a man couldn’t walk properly he couldn’t fight and from there capture and death were certain. Though with more consideration it was likely the Vance knights and men at arms were trying to capture him alive. Either that was due to Robert wanting an extra pound of flesh or out the fact his cousin was connected to theirs via a minor Frey cousin.  
  
“King Robert will reward us greatly for our service when we bring the Rogue Plowman himself before the Iron Throne in chains.” The elder said as Darry deflected the surprisingly strong sword strike, only for the experienced knight to turn his deflection into an overhead vertical head strike. Under his closed Salet style helmet, Jon smiled again. Not only had the other knight answered his question Karyl had allowed himself to get within effective range. Stepping into the attack Jon simply pretended to telegraph a text book block and just before contact released his weapon and sidestepped. At the same time Darry rotated his off hand in the Boar’s Tooth Guard, slipping it in between Karyl’s hands.  
  
A second later The next lord of Wayfayrer’s Rest was on the ground with a broken right arm and Darry was kicking his sword away lest the brave idiot get the idea to further test his luck. Jon then turned to the last man standing, well the last of his enemy’s men standing and spoke.  
  
“I’m not going to kill you, but if you attack me you are going to spend the rest of this war eating fine foods with at least one broken arm. Do the smart thing and surrender.”  
  
Walder Vance, squire of the man clutching his arm (while manfully not crying out in pain) and grandson of Lord Walder Frey was fortunate to inherit his grandfather’s wisdom. A second later the youth dropped his sword and assisted his knight toward the ‘baggage’ train. The Spider had strongly recommended that said weasel kin be among the survivors of this impromptu raid. Darry realized that capturing the heir and the eldest son of his closet familial retainer would keep Wayfarer’s rest out of the conflict. At least officially, though supplies, wealth and ‘rogue’ retainers were sure to make their way to King Robert for this affront. They were supposed to be hunting Darry and his band, not the other way around, and nobles were quite prickly about embarrassment.  
  
Darry exchanged nods with Ser Alliser Thorne and their contingent as the group melted back into the woods of the River lands with their prisoners. They had taken a good number of ransoms and it was time to deliver said nobles and finally present themselves to their erstwhile king. Jon only hoped the current batch of Targaryens were nothing like his memories of Aerys. Then again his meeting with the spider was absolutely nothing like he could have imagined.  
  
  
Harrenhall  
Kingspyre Tower courtyard  
Fifth Month of 283 AC  
  
  
The Kingsguard without a king, well a non child king anyway, transitioned between guard of the woman, long guard and six rapid strikes seamlessly. Jonothor’s body was in excellent shape and without the perceived weight of full armor it moved through the grass like a panther. The younger Darry brother could feel his supine muscles rotate through the simulated throws, punches and kicks he grew up learning. Jon’s father was of the mind that even the smallest of nobility should master the combat arts of their ancestors and thus while other children would be allowed their interests he and his brother drilled.  
  
As Jon grew older he found he liked the longsword so it became a passion rather than just something a nobleman should do. He even remembered wishing that swordsmanship could be his entire life.  
  
“Heh” The distant heir of Darry said to himself as he covered a imagined great sword thrust and fainted with a decapitation strike that turned into a disembowelment strike. The Kingsgaurd repeated the maneuver five times while reviewing his past and future options.  
  
Despite his outward calm Jonothor Darry was a man in turmoil. Nothing made sense after the fighting retreat away from the Battle of the Trident. If Darry were honest not much made sense before Prince Rheagar took a war hammer through his ribs either. The whole battle itself defied logic. Why pick a field position making organized retreat damn near impossible? Why allow the enemy to control the pace of battle? Hell why even allow him time to arrange his forces to oppose you?  
  
“Things must be as they were foretold if we are to avoid a greater catastrophe,” was all the silver haired stronzo*3 would say. Recommendations of sicking Sers Selmy or Llewyn on Robert were also shot down out of hand. God forbid the man send either the best sword in Westeros outside Dayne or a long reach stabbing weapon user against that murder beast. No, Rheagar had to make a statement about his righteousness.  
  
Well Rhaegar made his statement and as agreed Darry buried him somewhere he wouldn’t be disturbed. Well, at least ‘his’ prince wouldn’t be dug up before Rheagar rotted enough to be unrecognizable. A nobleman should keep his word after all and Rheagar didn’t out him for acting strangely either. For three days Conte Gionata Darcon had been in his sickbed and virtually incoherent. It wasn’t a fever despite the Prince’s covering for him. When he asked Rheagar why he not only protected him, but continued to trust the stranger before him wearing his friend skin, the man only smiled and spoke two sentences.  
  
“You have your part in the song as well, never doubt it Battista*4. Just do me two favors and you can carry out your own will with my blessing.” How the pallone gonfiato*5 knew his childhood nickname Jon did not know, but he suspected the Targaryen prophetic abilities were more than just stronzate*6.  
  
Jon considered taking the prince’s armor and using it to rally a force strong enough to punch through to a port. But the prince was considerably skinnier than him and unlike what Ser Garlan Tyrell may think, fighting in ill fitting armor was begging for death. Jon did take the remaining rubies though. Yes, Rheagar wrote him a note transferring accounts in Bravos to him personally and gave Darry charge of his available gold. However, one could never have enough starting capitol in Westeros.  
  
And it was that cash and some discreet supplies from others that allowed Darry’s defiant band to do well. However, other insurgents networks were barely holding themselves together in the face of desertions, deaths and injuries. It wouldn’t be long before even the Targaryen stalwarts like Lady Whent, who had little left to lose or his own family threw in the towel. Jonothor only hoped to make enough of a nuisance of himself that Robert threw a pardon their way just to be rid of the lot of ‘rogue plowmen’ tearing up the his fields.  
  
Since that time Bati had seen a side of himself and the popular fantasy world the old him would never have believed existed. Batista hadn’t thrown up when he killed his first man on the Trident. It was all of four seconds of work to literally disarm some farmer half drunk on wine and false belief in his own immortality. By the time he hacked down the Vance knights converging on what they thought was his campsite killing men was no more distressing than skinning a chicken for a souffle. Though Bati did loose his lunch after whipping that Heddle woman for something she had no control over. It was like something out the history books on the Libyan occupation of his grandfather’s days. The sheer amount of casual evil these….’people’.. codified in their ‘laws’ made it very difficult for the once world renowned chef to keep down the delicacies he bribed his ‘partisans’ with.  
  
An army marched on it stomach and a rebel force even more so. Jon’s memories of fighting the Kingswood Brotherhood served his force of Plowmen well. So far he could only provide them lessons in the Fior di Battaglia*7, a target to fight against, a string of victories and delicious food. The last two went a long way to keeping control of the largest band of Targaryen loyalists in the River lands. So far they had been lucky enough to operate against the local arrogant incompetents, but this ‘Stannis’ was definitely an belligerent do gooder American and worse he was far from stupid. It was damn near impossible to refute that fact Aerys was madman and finding something for the fence sitters to believe that wasn’t more outrageous than the tripe spewing out of the current US presidents mouth would require a miracle.  
  
Sure, Jon had not been defeated seriously and had even beaten twice his number on more than one occasion. Yes, traffic along any area they thought Darry was dried up overnight. But soon Tywin, the Blackfish and Tarley would be in the area with the latter two staying. If things kept going the way they were likely to Darry’s plow would break and this little ‘other world’ adventure would end with a fizzle instead of a bang.  
  
Darry completed his drill of arms with a flourish. Then he angrily snorted.  
  
“Why did that god damn idiot have to rush into single combat with Robert fucking Baratheon? If he had just fucking listened and let Barristan or even goddamn Llewyn handle it..” His diatribe was cut off by the sounds of clapping. The applause was followed by a non descript but firm voice. It belonged to a man about five feet and seven inches in height dressed neatly in a clean brown jerkin and matching hose. To either side of him were two well armed, professional warriors, no soldiers. They moved in synch and were too disciplined to be common men at arms or feudal levies.  
  
“Then he wouldn’t have been the prince of the people. His lords would have lost respect for him and there would have been more rebellions down the road. I do believe you are having trouble adjusting to the idiocy of this generation of nobles.” The bald purple eyed man proceeded to smile before bowing. As he did Darry got a look at his hands. They were covered in rings of various metals with different well cut precious stones. On the man he assumed to be Varys’ left wrist was a bronze band with a coin sized red stone.  
  
“Perhaps I might be of some assistance or rather we might assist each other. I believe together we can both keep our oaths, safeguard a genuinely good woman, win this war and be free of these idiots with a relatively clear conscious.”  
  
When he heard those words Bati should have run the man through despite the fact there were four armed soldiers at arm’s length. Instead the White Sword put his weapon away and spoke in calm voice.  
  
“I’m listening Spider. You have exactly ten minutes to convince me not to have my men kill you.”  
________________________________________  
  
*1 That is the articulated part of armor covering the knee.  
*2 Contrary to popular belief the heaviest battle swords were under six pounds.  
*3 Italian for asshole  
*4 Italian for baptist  
*5 Italian for inflated buffoon  
*6 Italian for bullshit  
*7 Italian for Flower of Battle a system of Medieval and Renaissance armed and unarmed combat.  
  
  
  
 **Os**  
Saltpans  
Before Battle of Red Salt  
Tenth Month of 283 AC  
  
  
Os’ longtime friend and conspirator was still more than a little upset with him, but the master spy realized she would come around. Supervising her troops prep work, he wondered how many of the soon to be dead men would fall victim to the Lady’s need to vent her rage.  
  
He stood amidst the soon to be battlefield disguised as his mentor with a stiff force of no less than forty loyal swords from Essos. The surprise from last time would not be repeated under any circumstances. Despite the fact he and Darry reached an agreement neither truly trusted the other. Not that Os actually blamed him one bit.  
  
As the spy lord saw the various Kingsgaurd assemble around the young king Os thought back to his meeting with the younger Darry. It seemed like an age ago.  
  
  
Before  
Courtyard outside Kingspyre tower  
Harrenhall  
Fifth Month of 283 AC  
  
  
“You are truly a credit to the Kingsguard and the Targaryen cause. I can clearly see why your skills are unmatched on the battle field.” Os said in the voice of his mentor. From the inflection of his iconic titter to the subtle way his hands never strayed too far from a hidden weapon Os had perfected his simulation.  
  
“Too bad I can’t say the same for you Spider. You now have nine minutes and a half. Do kindly part from your guards as well. I trust you know they wont save you.” replied the white sword drenched in the sweat of his previous routine. As Darry was behaving within the set parameters Os played along. The perfumed man flexed his hands a certain way and the four men walked away. There were two men with crossbows in position nearby and Jonothor wasn’t armored. It did no harm to let him think himself in full control.  
  
“Let me succinct. You may believe me a traitor, but if not for me you and your cause would be as dead as the mad king.” Os took the next four minutes to describe how “he” had arranged for safe haven for Darry and his men, stolen funds from Robert to arm Targaryen loyalists and mercenaries and finished by explaining how he had to sacrifice less efficient bands to appear useful.  
  
“Really and why should I believe you are not playing some strange game to put you own pretender on the throne with that cheese monger in Pentos?” came Darry’s next reply. And that one did shock Os, but not enough to throw him completely off his game. Varys had warned him that Rhaegar’s abilities were somewhat genuine and Jonothor was one of his confidants.  
  
“Because Ser Darry I came with enough supplies and secret information to allow you to gain a significant battlefield advantage. And I have many gifts you and your men will need.” Then while Darry was contemplating his words Os clapped twice and Lady Whent accompanied by his men and a few small wagons approached. Darry stood impassively as they unloaded the first which held a suit of fine Qohoric armor sized almost perfectly for Ser Jonothor. The silvered piece was festooned with the plowman of his house on every joint and the image on the chest was etched in black steel. But that wasn’t what held the man’s attention. Rather it was the valyrian steel sword the Qohoric master armorer Kilasio Tobaq handed to Jonorthor hilt first.  
  
“I’m listening.” was all the white sword said as his men gathered around to see their good fortune.  
  
At least that was all Darry said until after the celebratory feast, which for some reason included fare the world traveling spy had never tasted before. And it was extremely strange that a Kingsgaurd of all people would be able to out cook some of the most expensive culinary slaves in Essos. Not that his palate complained in the slightest, because each bite was heavenly. Os would have died gladly just to experience such a combination of culinary masterwork. It was all the man could do not to break character and praise both Rhollor and his savior for granting him this privilege. A tear did streak down Os’ face though it went unnoticed as many other people experienced the same.  
  
It wasn’t until the two of them were actually alone in a closed room that that the trap slammed shut. And by that Os meant Darry’s hand suddenly forming a corkscrew and tossing his back into the wall so swiftly and silently that all of the breath left him. Varys would chastise him for loosing composure and his sense of caution, if he ever found out that is.  
  
“Let us cut through the shit stronzo, before I cut through your windpipe that is.” There was suddenly a knife at Os’ throat. It in fact was the very same valryian steel roundel dagger Os had given the man earlier today. “You aren’t Varys, for starters you don’t weigh enough and I can feel your muscles through whatever glamour your red god gave you. Men without balls don’t get that strong.” For a second time Os was speechless. It was only the second time someone had seen through his glamour and acting skills and the spy wondered what gave him away.  
  
The small nick on his throat drove such thoughts of spycraft from Os’ mind as he willed the illusion to end. His death would not in fact advance the cause and this was obviously one of the ‘special’ people Varys warned of. Varys would need to be warned of this man’s presence and plans adjusted. Thus Os would not arrange an accident for this Darry unless given explicit instructions.  
  
“Good.” the Kingsgaurd said as he released Os and drew his sword. “Now we will have a slightly more honest talk about what Varys wants, what I want and how we can each help each other.” Lamentation was held defensively but Os was under no illusion he could kill the man with a hidden weapon before his head was no longer attached to its body. And Os had had enough experience with loosing body parts to last a lifetime. Os suppressed thoughts of ‘his fellow slaves’ holding his mouth open while the trader with bruised balls went for the hot pincers.  
  
“Fine. What is you desire?” Os said in clear voice and was surprised at the sound of his natural timbre. It had been months since he last used it with someone.  
  
“For starters I want one of those jewel things and a new identity in Essos when my work here is done. And I would prefer Braavos.” Of course Jonothor would, no one really wants to risk ending up a slave. And with the way Darry prepared meals that would be the first thing some idiot magister tried despite the man’s deadly sword arm.  
  
  
  
  
 **Bellweather**  
Dragonstone  
Ninth Month of 283  
  
  
The nondescript man with dyed brown hair and warm brown eyes regarded her warily and gave her at least four feet of space. And rightfully so as despite his usefulness and loyalty to her ‘uncle’ and their cause she did not care for him and his methods.  
  
Yes Bell acknowledged the man formerly known as Maester Qybern’s Order of Earth and Heavenly Wisdom had done much good. They had a structured system of healers that could treat most mundane ailments quickly, cheaply and efficiently without the ritual claptrap her soldiers would get elsewhere.  
  
“Would you please direct me to trader Gorso Gel?” she asked the slightly stooped man with as much false pleasantry as she could. Bell could very well fake a number of emotions with the best of bards and players, no ‘child’ of Varys could do less, and hope to survive anyway. She simply had no reason or desire to pretend in his presence.  
  
The part time necromancer gave her directions is his false subservient voice and she left his prescence feeling filthy despite her recent bath. Yes Bellweather realized on a certain level she was hypocrite, but there were some things people shouldn’t do to each other for any cause.  
  
Only the fact the slimy fucker actually could be trusted and technically worked for her ‘uncle’ stayed Bell’s hand and both of them realized it. Well as long as the man soon to be formerly known as Varys kept the ex maester out of her territory she did not care. She would be happy to be away from here and done with this bloody mask forever.  
  
Gorso’s voice was sugary in the way Tyroshi nobles were fond of. “So dearest you show concern for your dear old uncle? I’m shocked. I mean its touching, but shocked.” The green eyed Tyroshi with a false stripped beard moved in for a hug only to be stopped by the point of her arming sword tapping him in the solar plexus. She really wasn’t in the mood for his games.  
  
“Really, now you have the bastard experimenting on family? Who else did you let him chop up?” she said with open hostility. His act immediately ended and the less rotund man’s face became still as stone.  
  
“Don’t put on that face in my presence. You damn well know Os volunteered for the procedure. You know how badly he wanted this, so don’t try to play the innocent protector. And the only ones getting chopped up are the same people were going to kill. Those fuckers took everything and now they will give it back, piece by piece.” He said without emotion but she could feel the unspoken hypocrisy accusations.  
  
“And if the same thing that happened to Auris occurs?” He had died in horrible pain even after they amputated the right arm.  
  
Gel scoffed with genuine contempt. “It won’t. For one thing they mastered the technique and Os has been going strong now for months. Not to mention the six others haven’t had problems in four years. Face it, you might not like the man but he knows his work.”  
  
“You don’t know everything V. And before you harp on lesson one just remember that you can’t just wash away your past with a new identity. The spider may crawl out of its web, but the web never leaves.”  
  
”No matter what face you put on or what you do from here on you will carry that person with you. And no matter what you tell yourself you chose to be him and everything he did.” Then Bellweather turned and walked away. The Lady didn’t have to look to know her mentor’s eyes were burning into her head, reminding Bell silently that her words also applied to herself.  
  
2 hours later  
  
A ram’s mask was left in the care of two special ordiantes with a small note escribed with instructions. Its former owner exchanged it for another mask, a more honest one in her opinion.  
  
The lady told herself she was leaving a part of herself behind forever. Though in her innermost secret mind, she could hear a shadow laughing in a volume barely above a whisper. It had the voice of a dying child.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello I enjoy comments please feel free to leave some.


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